


A Little Less Sixteen Candles

by EverythingandAnything



Category: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, Declarations Of Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Acxa/Lotor (Voltron), Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Public Display of Affection, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Social Media, Study Date, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-08-20 05:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16549682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingandAnything/pseuds/EverythingandAnything
Summary: When Lotor attempts to get over being unceremoniously dumped by Keith’s sister by revealing a mixtape that was never meant to be sent, let alone heard, Keith finds his life turned upside down until Takashi Shirogane, the golden boy of Garrison High offers to help him out with a mutually beneficial arrangement. The catch? He just has to fake date said golden boy - the person he’s been in love with since childhood - to pull it off.





	1. I Don't Blame You, for Being You

**Author's Note:**

> I've been planning this ever since I finished watching (and rewatching and rewatching) To All the Boys I've Loved Before, and I would like to thank everyone in Downunda Server for their support, to everyone who listened patiently as I rambled away, and especially to [spookyfoot](https://spookyfoot.tumblr.com/) and jeanne for going over this chapter!
> 
> Title of this chapter and this story come from Fall Out Boy's "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me".

“What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?”

“Exactly what I said, Lotor. You’re dumped. We’re over.”

“You can’t just dump me like this! We have plans together!”

Even through the barrier of a closed window, his noise-cancelling headphones, and the booming beats of Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage”, Keith Kogane can still hear the eyeroll in his sister’s voice, her arms no doubt crossed over her chest when she scoffs, “I don’t ever recall agreeing to go halfway across the country to a college that doesn’t even offer my degree, Lotor.”

Likewise, Lotor’s whine is equally loud, “I was hoping that we could talk about that-”

“By springing it on my family at  _ my _ going-away party?”

Keith chances a peek through the half-closed blinds just in time to see Lotor shrug, flicking his ponytail over his shoulder with the action, the white of his hair near blinding from the soft lights of the front porch. “I thought that we should talk about it before you left. Do you know how much it hurts  _ me _ to have my hand forced in this way?”

Acxa groans, throwing her arms in the air before she turns on her heel, slapping away Lotor’s reaching hands, and Keith swallows down the cheer in his throat, even as his free hand rises in a quick fist pump. “Forget it, Lotor! We’re over. You’re dumped. Now leave.”

Keith hides his snort in the crook of his elbow at Lotor’s gaping jaw.  _ That’s what you get for being a self-centred prick, Lotor. _

“But Acxa-”

Lotor’s words are cut off with a loud  _ bang _ of the front door that reverberates throughout the entire house, and Kosmo huffs from his place curled up on Keith’s bed, his tail thumping against the dark sheets as the fall of heavy leather boots on wooden floors grows louder. 

“Keith! If Lotor’s still out front when I get to my room, I’m framing you for his disappearance!”

Keith groans, digging his pen deeper into the paper of his notepad as his door opens with a slow creak, yanking his headphones off before spinning around in his chair to face his sister. “Do it yourself. I’m busy.”

Acxa snorts, crossing her arms across her chest as she slumps against the doorframe. “What, reading your boyfriend’s notes?”

Warmth floods Keith’s cheeks as he tugs the worn leather notebook closer to his chest, one thumb running over the T.S. initials pressed into the cover. “Shiro’s not my boyfriend.”

Acxa smirks. “I never said his name did I?”

The warmth in his face grows hotter. “T-That’s not the point! And tell Lotor yourself!”

Acxa sighs, “I need to finish packing before I leave with Ezor and Zethrid tomorrow. God knows that they won’t pack enough snacks to last us into the next few states.”

“Can’t you get Mom to do it, then?”

“Yeah right, I don’t want to get caught up in a disappearance and murder trial right before a roadtrip I worked and saved for.”

_ She’s got a point. _

Keith rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll tell your stupid ex to leave.”

Acxa nods, purple strands of hair slipping free from her braids with the action, and Keith bites back his own smirk as she hisses and shoves them out of her eyes. “Good. And clean up your room! I can barely step in without nearly breaking my neck.”

Keith narrows his eyes. You were in my room? “Is that why my set of good headphones are mis-”

His door slams shut with a final bang, and Keith winces as his favourite jacket falls from its hook to join the vibrant mess of clothing on his floor.  _ Maybe she does have a point. I guess it couldn’t hurt to clean up a little bit, especially if Shiro decides to come ov- _

“Acxa! Please talk to me! I know you can hear me! And unblock me!”

Lotor yelps when he shoves open his window with a clatter that echoes down the silent street, and Keith matches his glare with one of his own, wrinkling his nose at the faint smell of Lotor’s cologne.  _ It’s a miracle I didn’t choke during dinner. _

“Oi Lotor! If it’s not too much to ask, could you please go home? It’s getting late and it’s a Tuesday night!”

Lotor huffs, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles in his purple blazer. “I’m not leaving until she talks to me! I did not journey so far for this!”

“You live right next door! Besides, Acxa said to fuck off already; you know what that means, right?”

“Anyone ever tell you that Acxa is a bit of a bitch?”

Keith snorts. “Takes one to know one, right? Plus, you’re the one who dated her.”

Lotor throws up a middle finger before he turns away. “Fuck you, Kogane.”

Keith sighs, the image of a handmade box carved with intricate aeroplane designs filling his head, the thought of its contents nearly turning his sigh into a groan. “You wish, Lotor. Now get out of my yard before Acxa comes back with a shovel.” 

 

* * *

 

Lotor, in all his pristine long haired glory, had strutted into Keith’s life at the tender age of seven, demanding to know the location of the nearest Häagen Dazs ice cream parlour, as the Corner Cafe only had the standard supermarket brand variety. A few weeks worth of playdates later, he had ignited a whole series of confusing emotions in Keith, ranging from annoyance to frustration to the need for Lotor’s all consuming attention. It had ultimately culminated in him awkwardly stroking his new neighbour’s face while he was asleep, and the creation of his first mixtape afterwards. Said mixtape had lingered in his socks drawer for months afterwards, stashed in an envelope, all stamped and ready for the two minute journey next door, before Keith finally moved it to his eighth birthday present: a box handmade by his father, and carved with every plane design beneath the sun by his mother’s hand. The same week, Lotor revealed his true colours as a right down regular royal dick; royal, but a dick nevertheless: read, Acxa’s type, by cheating Romelle’s little brother out of his allowance and lunch money for the honour of raising the most money during the annual chocolate charity sale fundraiser. The mixtape, signed with his father’s leaky ballpoint pen, and decorated with as many sparkly space stickers as possible, had remained in the box ever since; too humiliating to look at, but just enough of a reminder of the power of his emotions to keep. 

A few months later saw the creation of another tape, this time addressed to one James Griffin of Class 4-B, after said James had thoroughly trounced him in the 100m sprint at the sports carnival, and beaten him in every single pop quiz afterwards. The feelings this time were of a different sort, all gritted teeth and clenched fists rather than gaping mouths and wide eyes, more eight pm studying sessions and increasingly long dashes around the park trails than lying-awake-in-bed-fantasies-of-adventures-together. These feelings too, faded one eventful lunchtime a month later, where James, tired of being tagged out in dodgeball every time by Keith in P.E., had made a pointed comment about his mother, or lack thereof, and that his speed obviously came from chasing after her his whole life. One bruised jaw on James’ end, and two weeks’ worth of detention later, the mixtape joined Lotor’s in the box, the scent of bright red and black Sharpies and lightning bolt stickers fading from Keith’s memory shortly afterwards. 

It was the final tape, with ink faded from repeated touches and strokes, an ever-growing songlist scribbled in different markers and steadily improving handwriting, and his own doodles, that was the closest to past-Keith, and present Keith’s heart, and the reason why the amount of mixtapes totalled to a grand amount of three. Takashi Shirogane, Shiro to his friends, had ridden into Keith’s life from his own home a few houses over with his amused grandpa in tow and a bike basket overflowing with Tupperware boxes of homemade kinako mochi one fateful day after New Year’s, his smile kind, and his eyes kinder still when eight-year-old Keith had yanked open the door with a huff. It had been his first time making mochi all by himself as a surprise for his grandfather, Shiro had explained with a sheepish grin, and he had accidentally made too much for the two of them, so would Keith and his family like some? A week and a half later, Keith had been sent to Shiro’s house with the now clean Tupperware boxes to return them, only to stay for the rest of the day playing a new space exploration video game with him, laughing and yelling until his sides ached for days. After that, it was only natural for Shiro to ride by his house every day with a video game, movie, or book in hand, or an invitation to an adventure, dinner, or errand, until the days where Shiro failed to show up became vastly outnumbered by the days that he did. 

It was on one such adventure, that Keith had arrived home on the back of Shiro’s bike to find a police car in the driveway, and the Captain of his Dad’s fire station comforting a sobbing Acxa. He had bowed his head and apologised, tears running through the soot on his face as he stated that his Dad would never be coming home ever again, and Keith had clung onto Shiro’s prosthetic through every word, the warm metal squeezing his hand the only thing telling him that it was real and not some horrible nightmare. The next few weeks had seemed to pass by as though in a dream, Acxa storming off early to school with reddened eyes and a hard line to her mouth as Keith woke up to wet pillows, an aching chest, and the deep voice of his Uncle Thace instead of that of his Dad’s. It was days and days of even more stonier silences in the classroom, lunchtimes and recesses spent sullen faced and frowning beside a quiet Shiro, and blaring music in his room until dinner as he fought back the itchiness in his eyes. Even the daily phone calls with his mom, her voice cracked by distance, poor reception, and grief, had been of little comfort as he nodded his way through her apologies that she wasn’t allowed to come home from service yet, and mumbled his way through talking about his day. 

It wasn’t until Shiro had blown off a video game party and sleepover weekend with Matt Holt and Adam Ward to sneak into his house to hug and hold him close that Keith had finally, finally let himself sob and scream. Not once had Shiro let go, not even when his Power Rangers shirt got thoroughly wet with three weeks’ worth of tears and snot. He had fallen asleep heaving for breath a few hours later, snuggling into the warmth of Shiro’s side as Shiro’s fingers carded through his hair, and rubbed at his back, waking up to a thoroughly dark room still wrapped up tightly in Shiro’s arms. It was when he looked up to Shiro’s closed eyes, snuffling snores, and tiny pinpricks of drool at the corner of his mouth that the feelings had first emerged in the form of a quiet intake of breath, a heartbeat so rapid that Keith swore it would bruise his chest, and a heat that spread outwards from everywhere they were pressed together. He had been unable to tear his eyes away from Shiro’s face afterwards, tightening his grip in Shiro’s shirt as he settled in closer even as the heat intensified, his heart booming in his throat all the while. The feelings didn’t change when Shiro got his first and last primary school detention a few days later for talking back to Mr. Sendak, and calling him “an asshole” when he had berated a still crying Keith for not paying more attention in a shared library class. The feelings didn’t change when Keith crashed Shiro’s primary school graduation sleepover party, slipping under Shiro’s arm to cuddle against his side as everyone else hurriedly changed the game from Spin the Bottle to Truth or Dare. The feelings didn’t change when Keith stepped into Garrison Middle School for the first time to be immediately swamped in a soul-warming hug by Shiro. The feelings certainly didn’t change when Shiro and Adam started dating in their first year at Garrison High, and in Keith’s final year of middle school, resulting in him blasting “From Under the Cork Tree” on repeat for weeks on end, and repainting his room’s walls in red and black with his mom in lieu of getting a lip piercing. And now in the final year of Shiro’s high school career, it was safe to say that the feelings had remained the same as ever. Actually that was a lie. The feelings had changed, from that of longing looks and wide-grinned excitement at invitations, to even lengthier longing looks, quiet contentment with their friendship, and a deep burning warmth that threatened to set Keith alight whenever he dared to examine it closely.

 

_ Still _ , Keith thinks, as he thumbs over the initials pressed in the leather notebook with a sigh,  _ we have something. _ His thoughts drift towards the mixtapes in the box beneath his bed once more, tucked into beds of yellow paper packaging and bubble wrap, and he forces a swallow past the lump in his throat.  _ As long as Shiro is happy, something is better than nothing. _

 

* * *

 

Katie Holt, otherwise known as Pidge to a select few, groans the second she catches sight of Keith the next day, the bags beneath his eyes no doubt standing out in the bright morning light as he pulls up next to her at the bike racks of Garrison High, the sharp scent of dew already overwhelmed by that of exhaust. “Please don’t tell me you stayed up late reading Shiro’s notes again.”

Keith snorts, snapping the bike lock shut with a muffled click, before yanking his backpack and Shiro’s notebook out from the basket and clutching the latter close to his chest. “Define late. And I wasn’t just reading Shiro’s notes; I was also telling Lotor to go fuck off back to his house, and helping Acxa pack.”

Pidge rolls her eyes, Rover zooming in to hover by her head as they make their way into the building, its  _ whirs _ and  _ beeps _ lost to the raucous of hallway conversation and gossip. “Okay, first off: you’ll have to tell me later if the breakup was anywhere  _ near _ as dramatic as the Gossip Hoe Garrison Twitter made it out to be, and second of all, to answer your question: did you go to sleep before me?”

Even his best deadpan stare does nothing to dissuade the smug grin on her face. “Pidge, you’re a freshman doing an independent study in calc in addition to taking every possible AP class, and working on who knows how many robotic projects in your spare time. That’s not a fair comparison.”

He winces as Pidge’s elbow digs into the flesh beneath his ribs, her eyes narrowing from behind the wide lenses of her glasses, and her lips curling up further into a toothy smirk. “And yet I’m still in bed by the third time Mom comes in to check on me!”

Keith grumbles, the fingers of his free hand twisting the straps of his backpack, “Fine! I stayed up til’ two, okay?”

Pidge arches an eyebrow, Rover tilting on its axis in the air, and he sighs, throwing his arms up into the air as they round the corner to their lockers. “Two-thirty.”

“Ha! Knew it! After me!”

“Heads up! Coming through!”

They press themselves to the wall along with the rest of the student population just in time for Nyma and Rolo to rush past them with ear splitting whoops, and a roar of wheels on thinning linoleum before Pidge turns back to him with a gleam in her eye, her mouth stretched into a thoughtful line. “You know, you could save time if you just scanned everything. I’ll even lend you Rover just to save you the wrist pains”

The drone beeps, the green lights of its interface pulsating, and Keith chuckles before shaking his head, his locker opening with a few  _ beeps  _ of the keypad. “I remember things better when I write them down by hand. Even with the wrist pains.”

Pidge hums, tugging her own books from her locker, before balancing them carefully on Rover who accepts the additions with a series of trills. “You know, it’s not like Shiro’s going to mind if you ask to borrow them again, or if you take more than a day to go through them.” 

Keith tightens his hold on the notebook, a smile tugging at his lips as he thumbs over the soft leather. “I want to, though.”

A muffled metallic  _ bang _ echoes in the space between them, Pidge’s voice softened from where her face is pressed into the metal, Rover nudging at her hip. “Why do I even bother? Matt told me to tell you that Shiro’s looking over the bulletin board by the way.”

The last dredges of sleep clinging to Keith’s mind in the form of heavy eyelids vanish in an instant. “He is?”

Pidge snorts, adjusting her crooked glasses. “Better hurry on if you want your mooning because we only have seven minutes. See you at lunch.”

 

* * *

 

True to Pidge’s word, Shiro is indeed before the bulletin boards, his broad shoulders cutting a fine figure through the flurry of fellow students around him, his silhouette lit by the faint orange light from the screens. Even the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth is enough to draw one to Keith’s own as he eases his way past two yawning cheerleaders. “Shiro!”

His laughs cut through the pre-class conversations as two arms snake around his waist to pull him into a quick hug, the muscle warm even through the layers of his jacket, and Keith barely fights back the urge to smirk, burying his face into the fabric of Shiro’s varsity jacket instead. The scent of soap and grass fills his nose, the soft rumbling of Shiro’s deep voice soothing away the remaining aches in his body. “Hey buddy! Didn’t think I’d see you until engineering club today! Did you get the designs done?”

Keith grins, resisting the urge to brush back the white forelock dropping into Shiro’s eyes. “Uploaded them to the drive this morning. And...”  He whips his hand into the air from its previous place on Shiro’s shoulder as he pulls away, chuckling at the way Shiro’s eyes grow wide at the sight of his notebook. “Got you a little something extra too.”

“Keith! You finished everything in less than a day?” Shiro squeezes at his shoulder with an ever-widening grin, the metal of the prosthetic warm and familiar even through the barrier of his jacket, and for the briefest of moments, Keith allows himself to slip into the fantasy of the same hand against his bare skin. “Keep this up, and you’ll be beating my record.”

“Passing your bad habits on to the next generation already, I see.” With his slightly oversized beige sweater, beanie, varsity jacket, skinny jeans, and an arm full of textbooks, Adam Ward is the very image of the “perfect student” of Garrison High, and Keith bites back a grimace as he nudges Shiro’s hip with his own, swallowing the lump in his throat like a daily pill when Shiro’s arm settles across Adam’s shoulders. “You’ve got to take better care of yourself, Takashi.”

Shiro chuckles, and Keith carefully turns his head as he leans in to press a kiss to Adam’s cheek, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Adam sighs, his free hand moving up to push at the ever-deepening lines in his brow, his glasses glinting from the fluorescent lights as he shakes his head. “Takashi. You’ve fallen asleep biking me to school every day for the past week.”

Shiro groans, and out of the corner of his eye, Keith watches transfixed as Shiro knocks his forehead against Adam’s temple, “Can we talk about this later-”

As if on cue, the tinny ringing of the bells through the speakers cuts through the chatter like a blade, the student body scrambling and shuffling around them, and Adam sighs, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards before he leans in to peck at the corner of Shiro’s mouth. “I’ll hold you to that, Takashi.”

Shiro snorts, his arm moving to wrap around Adam’s waist as he pulls him in for a proper kiss, the sight pulling a dull and familiar ache in Keith’s chest. “You always do.”

Adam smiles, before turning to Keith, his light brown eyes betraying nothing as he dips his head down in a quick nod. “See you later, Keith; I look forward to seeing your additions to the design.”

The words are cool, the tone polite, and despite this, the muscles of Keith’s chest grow tight as Adam pulls away to join the crush of students making their way around the corner to their classrooms. Beside him, Shiro huffs, the front of his shirt pulling tight across his chest as he reaches up to card his fingers through his hair. “I should probably get going too; thanks for returning my book by the way-” 

“Shiro wait!”

The fabric of Shiro’s jacket sleeve catches beneath his nails, and Keith digs his teeth into his bottom lip, dropping his voice to a whisper as another student rushes by. “Are things...okay between you and Adam?”

Shiro sighs, rubbing a hand over the bags beneath his eyes. “We’ll...figure it out like we always have, but thanks for asking, Keith.” The hand returns to his shoulder, and despite himself, Keith smiles as he leans into the touch. “It really means a lot to me that you care. I’m sure it means a lot to Adam too.”

A heavy weight settles in Keith’s stomach, and he laughs, the sound watery even to his own ears. “Of course I care, Shiro-”

“Takashi? Is everything okay? Mr. Slav’s heading to your room.”

Shiro sighs again, “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

The breath in Keith’s lungs leaves his body in a muffled gasp as he’s tugged into a quick hug. “Thank you, Keith. Truly. I’ll try to see you after practice, but I’ll catch you in engineering club, okay?”

Keith arches an eyebrow as he slowly pulls away, his skin buzzing from the warmth of Shiro’s body; the sensation fading as soon as he catches sight of Adam behind his shoulder. “Lunchtime practice again? Don’t the Garrison Lions deserve a break every once in a while, Captain?”

The chuckle that slips from Shiro’s lips is enough to send the beating of his heart into a frenzy that threatens to bruise his chest, the warm metal of Shiro’s prosthetic in his hair bringing a tingling heat to his cheeks. “If we can keep up our three-year winning streak,  _ maybe _ I’ll consider it.”

Even at a distance, the pinch of Adam’s mouth at the very mention of lunchtime practice is obvious, and if he notices Keith’s eyes lingering on Shiro’s retreating back, he says nothing even as he steps closer against Shiro’s side, a knot of guilt curling in Keith’s chest as he turns to walk to his own classroom. 

_ As long as Shiro is happy... _


	2. Point is probably moot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to jeanne and to [spooky](https://spookyfoot.tumblr.com/) for looking over this for me! Special thanks go out to [Mads](https://damnspacebois.tumblr.com/) for helping me to come up with the title of this chapter, which comes from Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl.

“Did you make it out of the state?”

Krolia Kogane’s voice washes over him as he fumbles the locked door of his house open, readjusting his grip on another one of Shiro’s notebooks as he meets her wave with one of his own. Despite the shittiness of the phone’s speakers, the smirk in Acxa’s voice is obvious, and Keith shares a chuckle with his mother as she replies, “We didn’t just make it out of the state, mom; we fucked clear of the state lines by midday.”

Another voice rings out, Acxa’s protests drowned out by a roar and a rapid set of muffled honks. “Yeah, thanks to my incredible driving!”

“And my navigation skills!”

“That’s my girl.”

“Fuck off, both of you. We all know it was my planning!”

His mother laughs, motioning for him to join her as she rearranges herself on the couch. “Well Acxa, I’m glad to hear that you’re all still alive but Keith just got home.”

Acxa snorts, her voice nearly lost to the sudden rustling of wind. “I’ll be fine mom; if Zethrid’s driving doesn’t kill us, nothing will, so go deal with his emo-ness.”

His middle finger is in the air before he can stop it. “Fuck you Acxa!”

“Fuck you too Keith,” Acxa singsongs, “Love you, mom. Bye!”

The call disconnects with a soft _beep_ , and his mom leans her head back on the couch with a loud groan, her free hand reaching for his as he hops over the back of the sofa, the cushions dipping beneath his weight when he drops down to settle beside her. “So tell me about your day.”

It’s a lingering habit from the early days of his dad’s death, and one that Keith is to loathe to give up as he pulls a cushion close, the notebook remaining in his arms all the while. “Same old. Classes were boring. Mr. Slav went into this theory about alternate realities again. Worked with Pidge and this guy named Hunk again in engineering club.” He shoves his suddenly-warm face into the fuzzy fabric of the cushion, the scent of dog swamping him and growing stronger as Kosmo makes his way down the stairs and into his lap in a series of _thumps_ , his voice dropping down into a whisper _._ “Shiro looked over my additions to the design, and approved of them. Wouldn’t stop going on about it either. Adam and Matt actually had to remind him that we still had things to do.”

His mother chuckles, a rasp faint in her hitching laughs. “Guess all those nights staying up until two was worth it, huh?”

Keith sighs, his fingers sinking into Kosmo’s thick fur. “Yeah, I guess.”

He looks up as a familiar hand drops to his shoulder, his mom’s brow furrowed when he meets her gaze. “Keith, what’s wrong? You were so excited to show Shiro the changes you made.”

The warmth in his cheeks spreads, and he hugs the cushion closer to his chest. “Not _just_ Shiro.”

His mom arches an eyebrow, her yellow eyes seeming to glow in the afternoon light streaming in through the large glass windows. “Funny, because I specifically remember a certain someone going on and on about how their changes were going to complement Shiro’s, and how Shiro had given them the ideas for the additions in the first pla-”

The fabric of the cushion threatens to pull a sneeze from his nose as he buries his face in deeper, and beside him, Kosmo whines, leaning up to nose at his ear. Keith snorts, “Okay, maybe a _little_.”

His chuckles sound weak even to his own ears, even more so when his mother’s laughter joins his, the furrows in her brow deepening as she shuffles closer. “Tell me what’s wrong. What’s got my baby boy so down?”

_“You don’t have to worry about that.”_

_“Takashi. You’ve fallen asleep biking me to school for the past week.”_

His fingers tighten in both fur and fabric. “Shiro’s upset...and you know me, Mom.”

His mom nods, “And Shiro being upset makes you upset.” Kosmo huffs, his entire body rising and falling beneath his touch as he shuffles closer into Keith’s lap, the weight of his head familiar and warm where it covers the entirety of his thighs.

“Oh, baby. Have you talked to him about it?”

The memory of Shiro’s smile at Adam, of the way the tightness around Adam’s mouth melted away at the brief contact of their lips tugs at his chest, and Keith sighs. “It’s not my place, Mom.” Despite his gulp, bitterness floods his mouth as he bites out the next words. “And besides, he has Adam for that. It’s between the two of them.”

A slow whistle fills the room, Kosmo joining in with a soft _boof_ of his own. “Ah, that’ll be awkward then. Don’t do that; I didn’t raise you to be a homewrecker.”

Keith snorts, and they fall into a comfortable silence as the hand on his shoulder moves to gently stroke at his hair, and Keith’s eyelids threaten to flutter shut with each careful drag of fingers across his scalp.  

“Did I ever tell you that your father was dating someone else when we first met?”

_Oh, here we go._

He sucks in a slow breath as he shrugs himself awake, his chest heaving with his exhale, Kosmo immediately copying the sound. “Only about a million times. Three million if you count Dad’s retellings of it.”

“Then you know what I’m telling you, right?”

Keith rolls his eyes, snorting when callused fingers pinch lightly at his cheek. “That if it’s meant to be, everything will work out eventually because who knew Dad’s lover would suddenly move to a country in the opposite timezone and decide to break up with them, and that he would eventually wind up having feelings for you too.”

He can hear the smirk in his mom’s voice as she drags him in for a hug that squeezes the breath from his lungs, her next word as drawn out as her morning sip of coffee. “And?”

“And that the first person you like might not wind up being the last.”

His mom chuckles, giving him one last squeeze before carefully releasing him, and Keith takes the opportunity to arrange herself more comfortably against her side. “You take after me, Keith, so I know you’ll figure something out. Now how about some of your dad’s spicy stir-fried chicken tonight?”

Keith groans, the white of the ceiling coming into view as he leans his head back, the phantom taste of burned meat, vegetables, and tteok heavy on his tongue. “That might actually make me feel worse.”

He snorts at the soft tap on his shoulder. “I’d like to think that I’ve improved since my first try! Want to help?”

Keith chuckles. “I’d love to Mom, but…” He waves the notebook in his free hand before nudging his backpack with his socked foot, until it falls onto the wooden floor with a heavy _thump_ , the sound echoing throughout the room. “I’ve got some more notes to make. Plus homework to review for class _and_ the tutoring club.”

His mom wrinkles her nose at the sight, patting his head once again as they get to their feet. “I’ll call you downstairs when it’s done, okay?”

He’s halfway up the stairs, his bag thumping along the steps as Kosmo drags it up behind him with a wagging tail when his mom’s voice rings out from the kitchen, the smell of chilli powder, glutinous rice, and chicken already filling the air. “By the way, make sure to clean up your room soon, okay? Your uncle Kolivan is coming over for the weekend.”

Keith grins. “I’ll think about it, Mom.”

 

* * *

 

“I said no!”

From his place curled up by the door and out of the reach of the chaos, Kosmo lets out a whine to match Keith’s as he nudges at the closest half-filled cardboard box with his foot. “Please, Pidge. My room’s too much to handle for just Uncle Kolivan and I; not when Mom has to have an emergency meeting with a client today! We’ve been at it since he arrived on Friday!”

Over the phone, Pidge’s voice comes out as a squeak. “I’m tiny! I’ll be buried as soon as I open your closet!”

Keith scoffs, “Matt can deal with the closet then. I just need some help sorting my shit out.”

“Is there a reason why you’re asking me and Matt, and not Shiro? He’ll definitely help you!”

Keith groans. “He’s got a tutoring job for the whole day. It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask.”

Despite her effort to hide her snort, it rings out loud and clear, and the teasing lilt to her voice brings a light warmth to his face. “Why am I not surprised you’ve got his entire schedule memorised?”

Keith elects to ignore that statement. “Please Pidge, I need to get this stuff done before school starts tomorrow, and Uncle Kolivan is having enough trouble moving things up and down the stairs.”

From downstairs, his uncle’s deep voice booms. “I heard that, Keith! I’m not that old!”

“I never said you were, Uncle Kolivan!”

“Keith, even if I _did_ want to help, I’m not going to be offering my time for nothing.”

Keith rolls his eyes as Pidge’s voice drops several octaves, her glasses no doubt glinting to match her words. “You can work on upgrading Shiro’s electro stimulator at my place?”

“And get your mom mad at me as well in the event I nearly burn down your house? I like my head on my shoulders thank you very much.”

“You can work on any of your projects at my house?”

“Still a nope.”

Kosmo whines at the faintest edge of hysteria that slips into his voice. “You can store your projects in my room? The one you’re doing for the Olkarion Technology Museum is kinda big isn’t it?”

If possible, Pidge’s voice drops even lower. “They’ve banned me from upgrading them outside the premises after my last attempt meant that nobody could beat it in Tic, Tac, Toe anymore. I was halfway down the street with it when they sent me the message too.”

_Think, think, think._

“I’ll make you peanut butter cookies! Or I’ll try at least.”

“Thanks, that’s sweet of you, but I can already get them from Hunk. He’s trying out a new recipe this weekend otherwise I could ask him to come along.”

Only the thought and smell of the dust gathered on his fingertips and the palms of his hands stops him from dragging them down his face as he groans,  “I’ll do whatever you or Matt or both of you need me to do for a school week, depending on who’s coming, okay! Just please come and help!”

“That works!” Pidge’s voice has no right to sound that chipper, not at two-thirty in the afternoon and when they’re probably both running on five hours of sleep, but at this point, the muscles of Keith’s shoulders and arms are screaming too loudly to be ignored as he relaxes with a short huff. “Great! How soon can you get here?”

“Sorry Keith, I’ve really got to focus on my independent study, but I’ll see if Matt can come over to help out after his shift, okay?”

Keith sighs, slumping against the doorframe, barely resisting the urge to bang his head against the metal. “You’re a lifesaver, Pidge.”

 

* * *

 

“So..remind me what goes into the box again?”

Even with a fresh change of clothes, the scent of grease and electrical wiring clings to Matt Holt like a favourite cologne, his sandy brown hair already slipping loose from his ponytail as he bends down beside Keith to inspect the shadowy mass beneath his bed. Compared to the ordeal that was his closet, it’s laughably small, but even the mere sight of it sends a knot twisting in Keith’s stomach.

“Every article of clothing currently on my desk for starters. And um...”

They rise to their feet to examine the mess strewn across his bed, and if possible, Matt’s gulp is louder than his own. Everything on his desk, from his laptop, to the various pens, pencils, and notebooks, to his mother’s letters due to be sent out on a future errand, is arranged haphazardly in one corner. The rest of the space is dominated by a vibrant mix of shirts, jeans, and an odd number of socks, the colours making Keith desperately wish for a pair of sunglasses. Instead, he lets out another deep breath tinged with dust and stale clothing, his back already protesting at the thought of continued labour after the previous two days. “I’ll deal with everything beneath the bed, and then sort out the piles for you.”

Matt arches an eyebrow as he reaches back to readjust his ponytail. “So um...I know you mentioned everything about the desk, but which pile is the keep pile for your bed again?”

“Everything on the left, and before you ask, left from where we’re standing.”

Matt gingerly lifts up an off-white tshirt to toss into the nearest box, an obvious tremor running down his arm as he eyes the yellow sweat stains on the collar. “Okay, I’m gonna run downstairs and grab some gloves first. And the safety goggles in my car.”

The fact that Matt doesn’t even quiver at his half-hearted glare is a sign of his own exhaustion. “Matt, seriously?”

“Hey I’m a scientist and engineer-to-be! Safety first!”

He’s leaping over a panting Kosmo before Keith even has the chance to throw up a middle finger, who only thumps his tail louder against the floor, the traitor, and with a sigh, Keith drops to the ground once more, his knees protesting despite the thick rug.

“Patience. Yields. Focus.”

To his relief, the pile beneath his bed is even smaller than he first imagined, his fingers brushing against familiar engravings and sanded-down corners by the third journey, the tell tale curves of his father’s signature through thin fabric bringing a smile to his face.

_It’s been a while since I’ve taken a look._

The faded graphic tee falls away to join the rest on his bed as Keith shakes it free, the contents of the box jostling lightly against its sides with the movement. In his mind’s eye, he can already see the crinkles in the envelopes, and the bulge of the mixtapes beneath the paper long before he slides the lid off, the faded scent of sharpies and mothballs flowing to the forefront of his mind as the wood begins to move beneath his fingers. Just the very sight of Shiro’s name and address scrawled out in felt tip pen is enough to send a trembling warmth down Keith’s back, the sensation vanishing in an instant when he spots the two other envelopes beneath it, and he groans.

_Okay, you’ve looked eno-_

“Keith! Come down here and help me so your friend can go do what you asked him to do!”

The box drops from his hands onto the bed as he vaults over the mattress, his socked feet pounding over wood and rug as he slides down the bannister, Kosmo appearing by his side with a _whoosh_ when he lands on the floor.

“I’m here, Uncle Kolivan!”

From his place in the sunlight streaming in through the open front doors, the lemon yellow and green fabric of his Uncle’s Hawaiian shirt is somehow even more blinding than the landscape of his room. The colour and fruit basket pattern are made all the more brighter by the pitch black of his biker vest and the patches sewn onto it, the cracks in the leather doing little to alleviate the glare. Beside Keith and the other boxes by the stairs, and beneath a towering stack of his own, Matt manages a feeble wave of his fingers. “Hey Keith. Sorry, I was going to come straight back up, but I figured I’d help your uncle first. Or try to, anyway.”

Between the trembling in Matt’s arms, thighs, and the boxes themselves, coupled with the tightness in his voice, it doesn’t take a genius, or Pidge, to access the situation, not with the wideness in Matt’s eyes, and Kolivan’s own waiting arms. Keith sighs, “I got it Matt, you go pack my stuff.”

The boxes are dumped into his arms, his own wince and the protests of his muscles lost beneath Matt’s own groans as he rolls his shoulders and neck, before racing up the stairs with a quick pat to Keith’s shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”

 

“Uncle Kolivan, you didn’t have to always arrive so early, you know that right?”

His uncle scoffs. “And spend only a single weekend with you and your mother? Nonsense.”

Keith chuckles, “Spending three days largely helping with a cleanup instead of two still good?”

“Well, yes. It’s time spent with the family after all.”

Keith carefully balances the last of the bulging boxes on top of the four already balanced in his uncle’s grip, a barely audible _umph_ being punched out of his lungs even as the muscles of his biceps and forearms tighten. “Besides, I have a twenty four hour contingency plan whenever I travel in case of emergencies; thankfully nothing of the sort happened.”

“You could have caught a plane to see us you know.”

“Airlines are too subject to too many delays and accidents nowadays. Not to mention they’re becoming less and less comfortable.” Uncle Kolivan straightens his back, and Keith’s hisses join his at the loud _crack_ and _pop_. “Give me the freedom and control of my bike on the road any day.”

From upstairs, Matt’s grumblings about the lack of “colour coding” continue to drift down, and Keith arches an eyebrow as he crouches down to pick up his own two boxes. By his feet, Kosmo does his best to nudge his one out of the door. “You sure your back is going to be up for that charity ride on Monday?”

Uncle Kolivan grunts, the boxes heaving in their arms as they step outside. “I’ve survived worse and on longer trips. So has Marmora.”

As if to prove his point, the hoverbike stands tall and proud in the driveway, the chipped paint largely hidden by the multitude of tarp-covered boxes lashed securely to its frame, with only the small decal of a purple bladed knife still noticeable on its tail. They drop the boxes onto the scarce remaining space with a grunt, and Keith lets out a low whistle as the hoverbike remains upright. Uncle Kolivan hums. “You sure you don’t want one for yourself? Regris just got a new one; he’ll give you a good price for his old.”

The thought of flying down one of the mountain hoverbike trails with the wind in his hair cuts through the aches of his body, but he shakes his head with a sigh. “I wish, but students aren’t allowed to have hoverbikes on campus, Uncle Kolivan.”

“That’s Garrison High’s loss. A hoverbike would get you there a lot faster than the traditional one you have.”

“I think Garrison High would rather have the extra parking space for the school buildings though.”

Uncle Kolivan hums, bending to reach for the remaining tarp and rope, tossing the former to Keith, the material crinkling as he throws it over the new boxes. “I guess that’s a sign that your school values knowledge. Shame for Regris though; he was really hoping that you would take the bike since he can’t maintain both of them on his budget.”

The other end of the rope lands in Keith’s hands, the material rough against his skin, and for the briefest of moments, he thinks about calloused palms and eyes wide with excitement, a spitfire conversation about hoverbike maintenance and repair echoing along in his ears. Keith smiles. “Maybe Shiro could take it? He’s moving out of state for college though, so he’ll need to check their policies too but I know he’ll take care of the hoverbike at least. He’s wanted one for ages.”

“I’ll let Regris know in that case. They can arrange something when we come back in a few months.”

Keith nods, and they secure the boxes in silence, and it’s not until they’re inspecting their handiwork that Uncle Kolivan speaks again, the faint scent of engine oil sneaking into Keith’s nostrils as a heavy hand lands on the junction of his neck and shoulder.“Shiro’s a good man, Keith.”

The deep yellow of his Uncle’s eyes and the curve of his mouth are unreadable, and Keith chuckles, the sound escaping his body several pitches higher than his regular laugh as they saunter back into the house, where a new set of colour coordinated boxes await them by the foot of the stairs. “Yeah, he is.”

 

Shoving a pair of fraying fabric that barely qualify as Winter socks into a box should not even be in the realm of satisfaction, but a _whoop_ rushes out of Keith’s lungs nonetheless as he punches a fist into the air. By his feet, Kosmo lets out a bark of his own as he runs around in a tight circle, the clicking of his claws on the wooden floor quickly joined by own Matt’s own rapturous applause, before he pulls Keith into a tight hug that smells of dust and mothballs. “Buddy! We did it!”

“It’s over. It’s finally fucking over.”

Outside, Uncle Kolivan’s hoverbike roars to life before it settles into a soft hum, joined by the crinkling and rustling of tarp, and Keith’s gaze falls onto the box at his feet, its contents no longer causing his eyes pain.

_Just one thing left to-_

“Alright, go take a shower, Keith.”

Keith yelps as Matt’s hands land on his shoulder blades, shoving him in the direction of the bathroom. “But the boxes and my room-”

“I’m sure I can handle _one_ box! Besides, that way you and your Uncle don’t have to fight for hot water after he drops everything off!”

“But my room-”

Matt groans, tilting his head back towards the ceiling. “Leave that to me and your Uncle! Besides, I have some questions for him anyway.” Even through Keith’s peripheral vision, the glint in Matt’s eyes is obvious. “Like how the fuck is that hoverbike able to carry so much and still remain airborne? What modifications did he make to increase its load bearing capacity? Does the increased amount of thrust affect the engines and their maintenance?”

Keith rolls his eyes, leaning backwards as Matt continues to push him, his grunts growing louder with every slowing step. “Of course that’s what you’d be interested in.”

The smirk on Matt’s face grows. “Not _only_ that. Remember a certain deal that you made with a very scientific devil to summon him to your aid?”

“I’m going to be wracking up one helluva an IOU, aren’t I?”

“What else are friends for?”

The two of them jump when Uncle Kolivan’s voice booms up the stairs, the faint hum of the hoverbike engine nearly drowned out by his monotone. “He’s right, Keith. Go shower first; it would be the most time-efficient thing to do.”

Keith groans, the smooth tiles cool through the fabric of his socks as he stumbles into the bathroom. Kosmo, the traitor that he is, nudges the door shut with his nose, and Keith’s words echo against the walls of the room even as he begins tugging off his shirt. “There’s no way you heard all of that, Uncle Kolivan!”

The door creaks open again, and Keith yelps as a fresh pair of boxers is tossed into his face. “You underestimate me, Keith.”

 

Halfway through his shower, he’s brought out of his hot water induced haze by the buzzing of his phone on the sink counter, the red of the notification light cutting through the curls of steam like a warning alarm. From his place stretched out and panting on the tiled floor, Kosmo lifts his head up at the commotion, his tail thumping against the wall before he lies back down with a huff. Keith chuckles, readjusting his sudsy grip on the shower nozzle, fighting back a shiver as he shuts off the water, the rattling of the shower door earning another huff from Kosmo. The surface of the screen is slippery beneath his fingers as he swipes at it, the picture of himself, Acxa, and their parents obscured by two messages when it finally lights up.

**_From Kolivan <17:15>_ **

_Keith, please rest. Your friend and I have taken care of your errands for the day. Tell your mother that I will be back by dinner, and that I will be cooking._

_P.S. Your mother approves of the layout of your desk._

**_From Matt <17:17>_ **

_Your uncle and I got the rest of your errands done, so get some rest man! You looked fit to wipe out immediately! I’ll send you the details of our deal after I’ve worked it out, okay? Also, we sent a pic of your desk to your mom, and she said that it looked like the real thing! She did tell us to put the box back under your bed though, so don’t worry about that! It’s still there! See you tomorrow!_

Keith leans back against the tiles as he fiddles with the valve, his chest heaving with the force of his sigh as the lukewarm water turns scalding once more, his eyes already threatening to flutter shut.

_Well at least that’s one less thing to worry about._

 

* * *

 

“Keith! Over here!”

The squeak of the linoleum beneath the soles of his boots seems even louder with the vast number of empty tables in the cafeteria, the stench of overcooked vegetables and meat overpowering without that of the student body to cover it, a frown settling into the lines of his brow as he drops onto the bench beside Pidge with a groan.

“Where is everybody?”

Pidge shrugs, unwrapping a batch of cookies, the scent of peanut butter mixing with that of his own lunch as Rover powers down beside her with a soft _hum_. “Beats me. Maybe the lacrosse team is training shirtless again?”

It’s a pity that the sandwich in his hands is about as cold as the weather outside and is therefore useless as an excuse to explain away the heat pooling in his cheeks. “Not even Shiro-the entire lacrosse team training shirtless could convince this many people to eat outside at this time of the year.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of, how is he?” The white of the bread digs beneath his nails as Pidge’s voice goes quiet, her fingers fiddling with the remaining foil wrap. “You know? With how things seem to be with Adam recently? He hasn’t said anything to Matt or me, and Garrison Gossip Hoe Twitter has a strict “no trouble in paradise policy”.”

The taste of the food spoils on Keith’s tongue, chilli and spiced meat and vegetables alike fading away as the memories of the past two days swarm over him. Even now, the mere thought of the tension between Shiro and Adam is enough to make him squirm; the atmosphere had been so thick that even his mother’s heirloom luxite blade would have had trouble cutting through it. The lingering exhaustion from the weekend reignites in his muscles with a vengeance as the way Shiro had avoided Adam’s gaze or tensed at his touch; the way Shiro’s laughs, questions, and note-taking had been unable to quite hide the strain at the corner of his mouth; and the way Shiro had thrown himself into every conversation and discussion fills his mind. Keith shakes his head, swallowing the lump in his throat along with his bite of sandwich. “It’s not my place to ask. He’ll tell me when and if he’s ready. He’ll tell _us_ when and if he’s ready.”

The crunch of Pidge’s cookie between her teeth is all too loud without the _clinking_ of cutlery or someone’s raucous laughter to cover it. “I hope they’re both okay; there’s only so many times you can ask before it gets annoying.”

Keith sighs, shoving the remainder of his lunch back into its wrapping, waving away Pidge’s offer of a cookie in favour of slumping down against the cool metal of the table. “Ain’t that the truth-”

Beside him, his phone lets out a soft _bzzz_ , and Keith’s eyes widen as he takes in the message, the chirps of Pidge’s own phone and the hums of Rover rebooting falling away, his world narrowing down with every hitched breath on the words splashed over his screen.

**_From Matt <12:10>_ **

_I’d rather you find out from me rather than the GGH Twitter, but you need to get to the parking lot now!_

“Keith, wai-”

The doors to the cafeteria are already swinging shut behind him, Pidge’s voice cut off mid-shout as lockers, classroom doors, and bulletin boards pass by in a blur, until the sharp chilly air and the scent of Autumn leaves and exhaust hits him in the face. Keith’s phones buzzes again, the vibrations all too obvious even through the thick fabric of his jeans, but he ignores it in favour of leaping down the main steps, his eyes and ears already zeroing in on the cackling and chattering erupting from the large crowd gathered at the far end of the parking lot. With every thump of pavement beneath his feet, the raucous grows louder and more distinct, the sound of trumpets and a deep female voice in song mixing in along the babble, and Keith frowns at the familiarity of the words.

_Non, rien de rien-_

“Oh my God, let me message-”

_Ni le mal-_

“This is really happening, right?”

_Bien égal-_

“And they said who sent it?”

_Regrette rien-_

“No fucking-”

_Ma vie-_

“You bet your ass that it’s-”

_Avec tooooooooi….._

The faint closing beats of the song melt away, and a familiar voice rings out, triumphant, smug, and all-too-grating to Keith’s ears as he stumbles to a stop at the edge of the crowd.

“Guess who landed both Kogane siblings?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up on tumblr [here](https://history-rover.tumblr.com/) or leave a comment below! I promise that I don't bite! Sorry for the light sheith in this chapter but I promise that there will be a lot of shiro and keith scenes in the next chapter to make up for it! In the meantime, thank you so much for reading!


	3. Never Get to Call You Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to [Ren](https://starrynightren.tumblr.com/) and [nightrobins](http://nightrobins.tumblr.com/) for going over this chapter! Seriously, this fic would not have been possible without your input and your ideas! The title of this chapter comes from Carly Rae Jepsen's Your Type.

The bottom of Keith’s stomach drops away as the next song on the mixtape grows steadily louder, the lyrics faint through the roar of what had to be their entire grade, and then some more. Perched on the hood of his convertible, Lotor leans back, one hand reaching out to fiddle with the volume dial of the boombox beside him, the crowd cheering as Keith shoves his way through.

 _Je vous connais, Milord_  
_Vous n'm'avez jamais vue_  
_Je ne suis qu'une fille du port_ _  
Qu'une ombre de la rue…_

Lotor smirks. “Wow, Keith! Never knew you saw me this way! _Milord_? I am truly honoured.”

Keith scowls. “Turn that off, Lotor!”

Lotor turns his nose up into the air, complete with a hair toss as he stretches his legs out. “It’s _my_ mixtape isn’t it, Keith? I must commend you on your good taste though.”

Only the thought of fifty-something recording and messaging devices in the immediate vicinity, coupled with suspension prevent Keith from leaping onto the car to punch Lotor, another burst of heat flaring across his face as he takes in the handwriting of his eight year old self printed neatly across the envelope pinned beneath the boombox. “Wow, getting dumped by Acxa must have _really_ hurt you for you to do something like this, huh?”

The volume rises, along with everyone’s shouts as Lotor matches his glare with one of his own. “I didn’t think you’d be the kind of person to kick a man while they’re down, Keith.” For the briefest of moments, a flash of something akin to hurt flashes in Lotor’s yellow irises, before it vanishes just as quickly with the return of his smirk. “And besides, you wouldn’t do that to someone who you so _lovingly_ made a _personal mixtape_ for, _right_?”

Keith’s nails dig into the meat of his palms. “I made that when I was _eight_ , Lotor, so will you and your ego let it go?”

“Hmmm, then what on earth am I supposed to think about your statement of “fuck you” from last week? Did you mean that literally? And after I’d just been _dumped_ by _your_ sister too!”

A roar ripples through the crowd as Lotor leaps to his feet with a _thump_ , flinging his arms wide open, and Keith’s shoulders rise to his ears as stray hands and elbows make their way to slap his back and dig into his ribs respectively. The jeers and yells continue to reverberate through his mind as the volume of the song goes up and up and up, pain shooting up his jaw with how tightly he’s clenching his teeth.

_That’s it._

“As if I would ever fuck you in this or any other universe!”

If possible the roars grow even louder, and Lotor throws his head back with a laugh, the sounds settling uncomfortably in the bottom of Keith’s stomach. “And why is that? I was certainly good enough for your sister and your eight year old self!”

“Because I’m already dating someone else!”

The words are out of Keith’s mouth before he can stop them, the chuckles and muttering falling away in a flash, until only his heaving breaths can be heard. For the briefest of moments, the dropped jaws and wide eyes of everyone around him flicker back into focus before he reaches out to snatch away the envelope, a knot already starting to twist in his throat even as he fights to swallow it down.

“N-Not that that should matter! I wouldn’t fuck you let alone date you even _if_ I was single. Which I’m most definitely not. Single that is.”

Long nails dig into the back of his hand as he attempts to fumble the cassette tape from out of the boombox, and he looks up to Lotor’s face. His lips are drawn back to reveal all of his gleaming white teeth, and the scent of his cologne nearly pulls a sneeze from Keith’s nose. “And just who might that be, Keith? They must be a catch for you to reject someone like me.”

Keith yanks his hand away, the corners of his mouth twisting up into a smirk as Lotor fights to keep his balance, the envelope making a satisfying _smack_ against his chest as it leaves his grip. “None of your fucking business, Lotor.”

“It couldn’t possibly be a certain unavailable someone, so who else does that leave? Oh that’s right, no one!”

He ignores the “uploading” progress bars on the phone and PADD screens and the fingers flying across them as he turns around to shove his way back through the crowd, blinking away the moisture itching at his eyes. “Just fuck right off, Lotor. Fuck. Right. Off.”

 

* * *

 

**_From Pidge <12:15>_ **

_Keith where r u?_

**_From Pidge <12:15>_ **

_Pls Keith. U ran past us w/o saying a word, where r u?_

**_From Matt <12:15>_ **

_Keith, are you okay? Where are you?_

**_From Pidge <12:15>_ **

_R u okay? Just let us know_

**_From Pidge <12:16>_ **

_Keith. Pls just reply._

**_From Pidge <12:17>_ **

_I’m mssging on matt’s behalf too. He asked me to tell u this._

**_From Pidge <12:17>_ **

_Keith, ur locker is open and ur bag is missing. Pls tell me that u have it._

**_From Pidge <12:18>_ **

_U hve until lacrosse prac ends before i send rover 2 look 4 u. Just pls give us a sign._

 

Keith leans back against the wall of the cubicle with a sigh as he silences the message once more, the heavy thumps of his heart still ringing in his temples and his ears. Aside from the echoes of his slowing breaths and the soft buzzing of the fluorescent lights, the bathroom is blissfully silent, and his eyes close on his next exhale. Even with the odour of piss, brand name soap, and bleach, it’s a welcome change from exhaust and the sharp tang of falling leaves, the trees cut off by both the barriers of the cubicle and the frosted glass windows. Of course, the moment is promptly ruined by the rush of footsteps outside, laughter slipping in beneath the door to join the memories of the cheers and cackling only moments earlier. Keith groans, pain exploding against the back of his head as it collides against unforgiving wood with a bang, his fingers digging into the rough fabric of his backpack as he pulls it close to clutch against his chest. His eyes snap wide open at the slow creak of the door, equally slow footsteps making their way inside, and the tension in his shoulders returns as a pair of worn sneakers enter his view to come to a stop outside the stall.

“Huh. Didn’t think you’d actually still be here.”

_Fuck. Why now?_

He slides down further onto the floor, his palms clammy against the coolness of the tile.  “James, don’t you have lunchtime lacrosse practice right now? And how the fuck did you know I was here anyway?”

A freshly bandaged hand waves beneath the door, “Was on my way back from the nurse’s office when I saw you hightail it into here, and went to grab something.”

A well-maintained duffel drops with a thump beside the sneakers as if to punctuate James’ words, the rustling of the zipper all too loud before another familiar envelope is pushed into the cubicle, and warmth swarms Keith’s face once again. “And also, I think you might want this back. It seemed a little...personal.”

He doesn’t touch the envelope. “Gee, thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

To Keith’s surprise, James makes no move to leave, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end when a soft _thump_ sounds from the other side of the cubicle wall, the sneakers scuffing against the floor. Before the silence has a chance to trickle in again, James clears his throat and Keith’s fingers curl up into fists at the slow intake of breath that rings against the walls. “Look man, I’m not going to pretend that we’re friends or anything, but what Lotor did was shit, okay? And I wanted to know if you were okay.”

As Keith’s jaw drops open, James presses on, the envelope sliding further into the stall when he gives it a careful nudge with his foot. “You know, they say washing your face does wonders in making you feel better.”

His fingers close around the paper, the address mercifully facedown. “It does.”

“So...do you want me to get you a wet towel or something, or would you rather do it yourself?”

“I’d rather you leave actually, James. Thank you and everything, but please just. Please leave.”

Even with the barrier between them, the image of James raising his hands rings loud and clear in Keith’s mind, a grin evident in James’ voice when he replies. “Okay, okay. Got it.”

“Thanks.”

The squeak of sneakers on tile stops abruptly, and Keith tilts his head when James clears his throat. “Before I go, in case you’re not aware; you know me and Ryan are dating, right?”

Keith groans, burying his head into his backpack, his fingers digging into the paper of the envelope with a sharp crinkle. _Dealing with Lotor would be better than this._ “No, James. I wasn’t aware of the two of you dating. It’s not like the two of you celebrated Garrison Lions’ first victory of the season with a makeout session in front of the whole school. Or cuddle each other senseless during study hall.”

James chuckles, “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Had it not been for the fact that James Griffin’s smirk was the absolute last thing that he wished to see, Keith would have thrown the door open to fix said smirk with a glare of his own. Instead, his fingers fumble against the tab of his zipper. “Not of you, I can assure you that. Or Ryan, for that matter.”

“Even if we weren’t exclusive, neither of us could handle your emo.”

Keith scoffs, stuffing the package into his backpack. “Thanks.”

“Also, for what it’s worth? You have pretty good taste in music.”

His snort is met with a snicker from James, and Keith rolls his eyes, even as he fights back a snicker of his own. “Glad you liked it.”

The rap of knuckles against the door is nearly lost to the sudden and incessant buzzing of his phone as it vibrates on the floor beside him, and Keith tilts his head when James clears his throat again. “I’ll see you around then, Keith. You really going to be okay?”

There’s another message lighting up the screen when Keith turns his phone over, dread filling his stomach so quickly that he has to repress a retch when he reads the sender’s name, shaky fingers already typing his reply. “Hopefully.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro’s arms are around him the second he rushes into the library study room, and Keith chokes back a sob as he buries his face against the firm muscles of Shiro’s chest, the soft fabric beneath his mouth growing damp with every shaky inhale. His eyes slide shut as he presses closer and inhales the scent of grass, dirt, and Shiro’s deodorant, the trembling in his shoulders easing with every stroke down his back. “Shiro...I. I-”

The arms around Keith tighten, their shoes scraping on the thinning carpet as Shiro eases them backwards and out of easy view of curious onlookers. “You don’t have to say anything, Keith-”

“I’m so sorry!”

He and Shiro wince simultaneously as his voice echoes around the small confines of the room, and Keith gulps, fingers digging deeper into Shiro’s shoulder blades. “I...That mixtape was never supposed to have been sent! I’m so so sorry Shiro!”

_Please don’t tell me that I destroyed us._

“Please forgive me?”

Fingers slide into his hair and dig into his scalp, the tension in Keith’s jaw and the lines of his shoulders dissipating at the touch. “Keith, you didn’t do anything wrong so there’s nothing to forgive.”

“So we’re okay?”

Shiro pulls back, the hand in Keith’s hair sliding down to clasp his shoulder, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth enough to make Keith’s knees tremble. “Of course we are, Keith.”

It’s all Keith can do to keep another sob from tearing from his throat, the knuckles of his hands white as he slowly releases his grip on Shiro to wipe at his eyes. “How did Adam take it by the way? I’m pretty certain that he wasn’t happy that I sent a mixtape to his boyfriend.”

The hands on his shoulder and at the small of his back tighten, Shiro’s shoulders slumping as he says, “Adam and I broke up.”

The small amount of hypothetical joy that Keith had once fantasised about experiencing upon hearing those words fails to appear. Instead, he steps back into Shiro’s embrace to wrap his arms around him, his throat closing up as Shiro drops his head onto his shoulder with a gulp. “What?”

“We broke up. Yesterday, actually. I didn’t want to distract anyone so I was going to wait until the weekend to tell you all.”

He pulls back just enough that Keith can see the faintest glimmer of the watery sheen over his eyes even in the dim light of the room. “He came over last night to talk, and found me slumped over the laptop asleep with another college application essay open.” Shiro sucks in a shaky breath, his fingers playing with the hem of Keith’s jacket. “Said it was the last straw when I tried to delay our talk to finish it and yeah.” His shoulders slump down even further, his white forelock drooping into the deep bags beneath his eyes. “We broke up.”

“But you don’t like leaving things unfinished, Shiro. He knows that!”

Shiro’s mouth opens but Keith powers on, fresh tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “He should have been there for you through every college and scholarship application! Or helped out when you were busy with school clubs, lacrosse, volunteering, and tutoring!” The memory of Shiro proofreading Adam’s notes and essays, and taking over his duties as the treasurer of the Engineering Club at Keith’s house, while Adam had been struck down by a particularly nasty case of the flu fills Keith’s mind, and the edges of his vision tint red. “You did the same for him!”

Shiro sighs, “Keith, it wasn’t fair of me to always take him for granted and to always put our relationship second, just like it wasn’t fair of him to...not do what you said.”

If possible, the exhaustion clinging to Shiro’s frame grows heavier as he slowly pulls back to slide down on the floor, leaning against the leg of a table with a heavy huff. The sight pulls at the muscles of Keith’s heart, and he scrambles to sit beside him. “Shiro...”

“Keith please.” The smile gracing Shiro’s lips is a mere shadow of his regular one as he reaches out towards him. “Aren’t I meant to be the one comforting you?”

It’s a clear diversion but Keith nods all the same, settling against Shiro’s side, “Did you manage to finish the opening of your essay before you conked out at least?”

Shiro barks out a laugh, his eyes clenching shut as his mouth stretches into a wide smile. “I would have managed to finish the entire essay if my grandpa hadn’t barged into my room brandishing a certain package.”

The wince escapes Keith before he can even think to stop it, and only the gentle rub of Shiro’s thumb at his nape keeps him from tensing up again. “I didn’t listen to the songs, Keith. I didn’t look at the track list either.”

“What?”

A shiver runs down his spine as Shiro sucks in another slow breath, “My grandfather had a good idea about what it was when he lifted up the package, and he told me. It didn’t feel right to listen to something so personal after that, not without your permission.”

The lump in Keith’s throat grows in size, and not even his largest gulp is able to dispel it completely. “Shiro…”

“I didn’t bring it with me, but I could come by your house later and drop it off?”

His fingers dig deeper into the fabric of his jeans as he chokes back another sob. “You have no idea how much this means to me, Shiro.”

The hand on his nape slides up to card through his hair. “You’re my best friend, Keith; of course I would give it back to you.”

_Would we still be friends if you’d listened to the tape? Or if you’d looked at it?_

Short nails press against the skin of his scalp, and Keith leans into the touch as he turns to meet Shiro’s wide eyes, shivers running down his spine for an entirely different reason at the hard twist to Shiro’s mouth and the steely glint in his deep dark eyes. “Is there anything you would like me to do? About Lotor?”

_So many things. And definitely not to Lotor._

Keith swallows the thoughts down with a soft gulp, praying desperately that the heat settling into his cheeks can be blamed on the lingering humiliation. “You know, you didn’t have to end lacrosse practice early for me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro’s free hand curls into a tight fist, the tendons sticking out against the skin before he relaxes it with a slow breath. “How could I not, Keith? You mean the world to me.”

Keith chokes back another sob, the hand in his hair immediately sliding down to rub at his shoulder as he bites back every hopeful scream of his traitorous heart, pain shooting up his jaw with every grinding clench of his teeth.

_As a friend. You know he means it as a friend._

Slowly the hand on his shoulder moves down further down to wrap around his waist, the contact sending tendrils of warmth rushing through his body and a thrill down his spine despite the painful thumping against the walls of his chest. ”You’re hurting, Keith. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Keith shakes his head, ignoring the students passing by outside in favour of leaning more heavily against Shiro. “You being here is more than enough for me.”

Shiro’s arm tightens around his waist, and Keith sucks in a shaky breath, his heartbeat booming in his ears as he’s lifted up to sit in Shiro’s lap. “There, how’s this?”

“We...we haven’t done this since…”

_Since the night my feelings for you changed._

Shiro hums, his free hand moving to ruffle Keith’s hair, before cupping the back of his head to pull him closer against his chest. “I think the situation calls for it though.”

They slip into an easy silence, the soft thumping of sneakers and boots on too-thin carpet fading out more and more as Keith matches his breathing to Shiro’s, the rise and fall of their chests perfectly in sync by the time his eyes flutter shut with a long drawn out huff. His tense muscles lulled into finally relaxing with every one of Shiro’s gentle strokes across his scalp, he feels more than hears Shiro’s whisper, the warmth of his breath stirring the strands of his hair. “Will you be okay?”

 _Thanks to you_.

Despite everything, Keith smiles. “I will be.”

 

* * *

 

Nyma for the skies @NymaNineNine

@realno1holt  look what I spotted! #rebound #gettingtoknowyou #garrisongh #incoming

[image attached]

 

Nyma for the skies @NymaNineNine

Whoops I meant  @garrisongh_xoxo !

 

Nyma for the skies @NymaNineNine

Guess the rumours really must be true then! Who knew Keith had it in him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up on tumblr [here](https://history-rover.tumblr.com/) or leave a comment below!


	4. Maybe You Could Be Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much to my beta for this chapter [spooky](https://twitter.com/spooky_foot) who made this the piece it is today! Also, I would just like to apologise for the delay in getting this chapter up; a lot of stuff happened all at once and left me unable to write for a while. I hope that this chapter, with its title from Prince's Kiss makes up for it!

X0X0 GGH <3 @garrisongh_xoxo

SPOTTED! Garrison heartthrob T.S. photographed cuddling with K.K! Could rumours about K.K. be true after all? Only time will tell! Remember to check pinned thread for today’s goss! #garrisongh #ggh #luvisintheair #spotted #submission

[image attached]

 

Nadia Rizavi @PuttingontheRitzavi

Huh, guess it’s true then, huh.

 

James Griffin @JamesGriffindor

No fucking way.

 

Ina Leifsdottir @ImtheWing

I feel like we are missing some important information here.

 

RK @ photography @RyanKinkade

@JamesGriffindor  was this what you were telling me about earlier?

 

New Romelletics @RomBelle

wait what.

 

Allura is my BAE <3 @LanceLanceyLance

You’re kidding! Shiro’s with KEITH now?

 

Hunk @ crying over spilt milk @HunktheHunk

Uh-oh, this cannot be good #luvisintheair never ends well!

 

Shay! @ShayADay

Woah! When did this all happen?

 

Nyma for the skies @NymaNineNine

You’re welcome

 

They see me Rolo-ing @RoloBeez

@NymaNineNine  bitch what the fuck. HOW? DM ME NOW!

 

Nyma for the skies @NymaNineNine

Check discord  @RoloBeez 

 

* * *

 

Textbooks, essays, and tutoring club assignments lie forgotten on the table before Adam Ward as he stares dumbly at the tweet plastered over the screen of his phone, the likes and retweet numbers multiplying with every stroke of his thumb, the replies growing in volume until he swears that he can hear the laughter and chattering echoing in his ears.

_No way. Takashi wouldn’t...he just wouldn’t...not right after we just broke up...and not with-_

He jumps as his phone slips from his shaking fingers to clatter onto polished wood, dipping his head in apology at Ms. Dayak’s scowl. “Another unnecessary noise from you, and I will strike you from the list of students allowed to use my classroom office during lunch and free periods! I expect better from you, Mr. Ward.”

“Understood, Ms. Dayak.”

He waits until she turns her attention back to her empty word document before slowly turning his phone over, the tweet seeming to mock him with its ever increasing statistics until a sickening heaviness pools in the pit of his stomach. His throat grows tight when he exits out of the app, the still unchanged wallpaper of him and Takashi sharing a grinning kiss twisting at the muscles of his chest.

 _Takashi...I...I still-_  

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when his phone erupts in muffled vibrations against the meat of his palm, and Adam weathers another one of Ms. Dayak’s scowls as he dashes from the classroom and into the blessedly empty hallway, the trembling in his fingers intensifying until he can barely answer the call.

“Adam do you have a moment to talk right now?”

Pain runs along the length of Adam’s jaw as he clenches his teeth, the concern in Matt’s voice; the concern in the voice of one of _Shiro’s best friends_ almost too much to bear as he slumps against a wall of lockers with a soft _bang_. “Matt, is it true?”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about-”

“The rumour about Keith and-” Adam gulps, his free hand clenching into a fist as he forces a slow breath into his lungs. “And. And Takashi? Yes.”

The silence on the other end stretches on and on, until Adam is ready to blame the school’s shitty coverage when Matt finally clears his throat. “I...may know something.”

Adam’s fingers dig deeper into the skin. “Matt, I know you’ve always been closer to Shiro than me, but please don’t lie. Not about this.”

Matt’s voice is quiet when he speaks again. “You’re my friend too, you know that right? That’s why I’ve been staying out of this; I don’t want to pick a side between the two of you.”

Adam sighs, rubbing at his temple with his free hand. “Please just tell me already.”

A slow drawn out breath over a crackling connection has never felt longer. “From what it appears, there’s a very good chance that it could be true. I mean, you probably saw the picture already; I don’t think friends sit together like that.”

_Did our relationship mean that little to him, then? Did I?_

Tears are already trailing down Adam’s cheeks before he can stop them, and he sucks in a slow rattling breath. “I see.”

“I-I-I mean, it _is_ Shiro and Keith, so it _might_ just be nothing, but I didn’t want you to have any false hope since you still…”

The remainder of Matt’s sentence is buried beneath the mockery of a laugh that falls from Adam’s mouth as a gurgle, his fingers sticky and smelling of salt as he drags it across his wet face. “Is it that obvious?”

Matt’s soft gulp matches his own. “Well, it is to me now.”

Another fresh wave of tears trickle down his cheeks as he sucks in a shaky breath, pushing his glasses up as he massages at his eyes. Distantly he’s aware of Matt’s voice still filtering through the numbing fog surrounding his brain as he slowly slides down to sit on the floor in a sprawl of limbs, the coolness of the lockers against the skin of his nape just enough to cut through the haze. “I-I’m so sorry, Adam. I didn’t want you to find out like this; I was hoping that you would have been too busy with tutoring club stuff so that I could break the news to you first as your friend.”

Adam shakes his head. “Thank for telling me the facts, Matt. And no hard feelings, okay? You have an equal opportunity policy on the Gossip Hoe Twitter; there would’ve been a riot if you’d ignored Nyma’s mentions.”

“Will you be alright-”

“I need to go, Matt.”

The soft _beep_ when he hangs up is nearly lost to his own shaky intake of breath, and Adam pulls his knees to his chest as his cheeks grow wet once again, his fingers already punching in a different contact.

 

The caller ID splashed over his screen sends a shiver down Shiro’s spine as he takes it in, the squeak of his footsteps on linoleum, and the faint chatter drifting from nearby classrooms falling away. The vibrations of the phone are muffled from inside his clenched fist, his fingers tightening in their white knuckled grip around it with every buzz before he finally grinds his thumb into the answer button, sucking in a slow breath before answering. “Adam...hi.”

“Takashi I…” Shiro frowns at the barely repressed sniff on the other side of the call before Adam continues. “Did I interrupt something?”

There’s a slight edge to Adam’s voice, the sound all too familiar from the last few weeks of their relationship, and Shiro sighs, shaking the memories away and swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I just walked Keith to class; he doesn’t have a free period right now. Is something wrong?”

The muscles in Shiro’s shoulders tense at the muffled _bang_ and the shaky inhale over the connection, and in his mind’s eye, he can see Adam pinching his nose before his words tumble out in a careful clipped rush. “I need to be honest with you right now, and I _need_ you to listen to me this time.”

Another uneven breath. “I don’t think you rebounding with Keith is a good idea.” Despite Adam’s best efforts, the sniff this time is louder, his voice thick with unshed tears. “We literally broke up less than twenty four hours ago.”

“What do you mean by-”

“I saw the picture on the Garrison Gossip Hoe Twitter. Everyone has.”

The thickness in Adam’s voice grows, breaking on every second word as he presses on. “We might not have ended well but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt to see you rebound with the kid that used to follow us everywhere, Takashi! It doesn’t mean that I still don’t-”

The bottom of Shiro’s stomach falls away as the implications of Adam’s aborted sentence hit him in the gut, the coolness of a locker against the flat of his palm distant through the sensation. “Don’t?”

Adam’s gulp matches his own, and when he speaks again, his voice is noticeably tighter to Shiro’s ears. “Don’t...have some regrets. But never mind about that. My point is, I can’t stop you from...from whatever it is you’re doing with Keith, but I can tell you that I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Keith and I are-”

The remainder of the sentence dies in his throat as the memory of Keith nestled securely in his arms and tucked against his chest swamps to the forefront of his brain, the beat of his heart increasing as it seems to claw its way to lodge in his throat. _Just say it. Two more words. Two more little words._ Shiro gulps, his hands flexing at the phantom warmth of a small waist and firm muscle between them, the skin of his chin itching for the tickling sensation of soft inky black strands of hair, the mental image of wide violet eyes and a wobbly smile draining the remaining tension from his body even as his heart beats faster. _Just say it._

“Keith. Keith and I are…”

He clears his throat. “Keith and I...Keith and I-”

Another loud sniff rings out over the connection, and despite everything, Shiro’s heart twists at the sound, his fingers suddenly itching to interlace with Adam’s as the corners of his mouth turn downwards, and a watery sheen threatens to overflow from his eyes. _Clear it up. Clear it up, Shiro._ “Adam, I...”

“Takashi?”

 _It doesn’t mean that I still don’t-_ The words die in Shiro’s mouth, clinging to his throat like burnt food as he says instead, “Adam, are you okay? If you need to skip afternoon-”

“I can handle it, Takashi.” If there’s any evidence that Adam had been on the verge of tears only seconds earlier, the steely edge to his voice hides it well, even as his shaky exhale betrays it immediately afterwards. “I can handle our shared duties in the tutoring club too. And engineering club.”

Shiro sighs, leaning more heavily against the locker. “Just because we broke up doesn’t mean that I can’t still worry about my vice-captain and vice-president.”

On the other end, Adam snorts loudly, a tentative smile obvious even in the feedback over the connection. “Then after practice, could we meet, just to talk? Corner Cafe, my treat?”

Judging by Adam’s sharp squeak at the namedrop of their former unofficial go-to place for their dates, the location suggested seems to be purely out of habit. Nevertheless, the very mention of the name further twists the muscles of Shiro’s already thumping heart, the sensation pooling in his stomach earlier returning with a vengeance. “I-I can’t; I’ve got plans...”

Adam sighs, his voice heavy with resignation. “Have fun with your _boyfriend_ then. See you at practice.”

The call disconnects with a soft _beep_ , and Shiro sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he considers their conversation, the pain in his heart slowly ebbing away with every passing second.

_Keith as my boyfriend, huh..._

 

* * *

 

Somehow the topic of Keith’s supposed relationship with Shiro remains the hottest discussion point of the day; the humiliation of Lotor’s actions traded for a slightly less, and slightly more welcome one as he fields snickers, awestruck glances, and more than a few glares. Even though the knowledge of being Shiro’s fake boyfriend brings a guilty thrill to his heart, Keith spends the remaining school hours with a scowl, electing to skip watching the afternoon lacrosse practice in favour of cycling home at a breakneck pace, his phone shoved into the bottom of his backpack rather than the pocket of his jacket. Only Pidge’s perfectly timed request for a video call on his PADD prevents Keith from turning off every single one of his devices altogether when he stomps into his room with Kosmo at his heels, and he collapses back onto his bed with a groan as he accepts it. “Remind me why this bullshit about Shiro being my boyfriend still hasn’t died down yet? Rolo and that Lance guy must have done something stupid by now, right?”

His phone vibrates against the wood of the floor through his bag as Pidge shoots off a message with a flourish and a tight mouth, the sent screenshot draining the warmth from Keith’s body when he finally digs the device free. “Nyma didn’t _just_ mention Garrison Gossip Hoe on Twitter. And it’s _Shiro_ , what did you expect?”

Keith runs his hands down his face, the scent of dog comforting despite its heaviness. “I should have figured.”

Pidge’s eyes soften as she readjusts her glasses, pulling her own device closer to her. “How are you holding up, Keith?”

Beside her, Rover beeps in a tone that could only be described as sympathetic, and Keith sighs, snuggling closer against Kosmo. “Not sure how to answer that honestly.”

The frown lines on Pidge’s brow grow deeper as she steeples her fingers. “I don’t know if this helps, but Matt estimates that things should die down within two weeks at most. He’s sorry for accidentally sending the mixtapes out by the way; he thought that they were meant to be delivered with your mom’s letters.”

Keith waves the apology away with a groan. _Serves me right for dumping all the letters in the same place_. “Tell him that the apologies via text and voice message was enough. Maybe that’ll get through to him more than my own replies.”

“Can I take up the offer to punch him on your behalf then?”

Keith shrugs. “Sure, why not?”

The glint in her eye as she rubs her palms together draws a smile to Keith’s lips before he falls backwards with a yelp when Kosmo suddenly leaps up with an enthusiastic _boof._ By the time he coughs the taste of blanket fabric from his mouth, the clacking of claws on wooden stairs is already growing faint, the doorbell ringing just as his phone lights up with another message, one that rapidly returns Keith’s smile to his face. “Gotta go. Shiro’s here.”

Pidge frowns. “Shiro? What’s he doing at your place so early?”

Keith sighs, the tension in his eyeballs draining when he presses the fingers of his free hand against his eyelids. “He’s just returning my mixtape, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Are you two going to talk about it? About this?”

Keith hugs his knees to his chest before slowly getting to his feet, the faintest hint of warmth already pooling high in his cheeks. “We already did, why do you think he’s returning my mixtape in the first place?”

Pidge sighs, rubbing at her eyes from beneath her glasses as she absentmindedly strokes at Rover with her free hand. “That’s not what I meant Keith and you know it.”

He swallows past the lump in his throat, his voice barely audible even to his own ears. “Nothing’s changed between us, and it never will.”

 

“Hey, how are you holding up?”

Keith leans into the fingers massaging inane patterns into his scalp, the gentle touch relieving the tension there as he traces the edge of the envelope beside him on the bed. “Better now that you’re here. I’ve never been so popular though; who knew dating the Golden Boy of Garrison High got you so much attention?”

Shiro frowns, even as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Do you not like it?”

Keith shrugs. “I mean, at least it keeps talk about the mixtape, _and_ Lotor off my back.”

Shiro snorts, the white strands of his hair fluttering with the movement as he moves to sit beside Keith, the mattress dipping beneath the weight. Behind them, Kosmo grumbles, rearranging himself on the lumpiest part of the blanket before going back to sleep with a snort of his own, and Shiro chuckles as he reaches out to stroke at his fur. “I guess it does, huh.”

Something about his posture, the way he tucks his knees just a tad too closely to his chest, the way his teeth worry at his bottom lip, draws Keith’s attention. He slowly sits up and shuffles closer, the fabric of their pants just brushing against one another. “What’s wrong, Shiro?”

Shiro clears his throat, the fingers of his free hand picking at the fabric of his pants. “Do you mind, Keith? The fact that the whole of Garrison High seems to think that the two of us are dating.”

 _You have no idea how much I don’t mind_. Keith shrugs instead, turning his face until the fall of his hair covers his cheeks and the blush throbbing through them. “Well I mean it sure beats the other option.”

Shiro sucks in a slow breath, his gaze flickering between Keith’s and the carpet. “Keith, what if we...don’t clear things up. At all.”

_He can’t possibly…_

“S-Shiro, what do you mean by that exactly?”

Even with their close proximity, Keith has to lean even closer to even catch Shiro’s voice. “What if we pretend that we really are dating?”

“Why?”

Shiro tilts his head. “Why what, Keith?”

“Why are you doing this? I mean it obviously helps me out since Lotor and everyone won’t bother me about the mixtapes anymore, but how does this help you exactly?”

Shiro chuckles, his fingers playing with a strand of Keith’s hair before he slowly withdraws it to scratch at his nape. “You know me too well.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Not an answer.”

The half-hearted flick to his shoulder is a small price to pay for the small smile to stay on Shiro’s face. ”Well, Adam and I broke up for a reason.”

“The reason being that he was an unsupportive dick.”

“ _Keith._ ”

Keith dips his head, tugging his own knees up to his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The two of you broke up for a reason and?”

Shiro’s huff shakes his entire body. “Well, when he found out about. Um. That rumour? To say that he was pissed and hurt about it would be a bit of an understatement.”

Keith’s jaw drops open. “But he was the one to break it off!”

Shiro sighs, dropping his chin to rest even more heavily on his knee. “That’s just it. I think he regrets it, and finding out about...us, was the wakeup call for him.”

A heavy weight pools in Keith’s stomach, the sensation rising up so rapidly to clog his throat that he nearly gags, his heartbeat growing louder as he fights it back with a slow shaky breath. _Calm down. Shiro wouldn’t get back together with him if he suggested that we fake date._

In the silence of the room, Shiro’s gulp is especially loud, his gaze still downcast when he turns to face him. “Keith, this may be selfish of me, but I think it’s best if Adam doesn’t get a chance to seriously consider us getting back together, even if he has regrets. We broke up for a reason, and that’s not going to magically go away just because we give it a second chance.”

The realisation hits Keith like a punch in the chest. “So if he thinks that the two of us are dating…”

Shiro clicks his tongue with a sombre nod. “Bingo.”

The warmth radiating from Shiro’s body, the strong scent of dog, the fuzzy fabric beneath his fingers all fall away as the words echo in Keith’s mind. _So if he thinks the two of us are dating..._ He’s only vaguely aware of the sensation of cool air rushing into his rapidly drying mouth as his jaw drops open, the familiar hand massaging at his shoulder and the soft whispers of “Keith, Keith, Keith, are you okay?” doing little to cut through the fog. _No. No. No. No. No. Fake dating? Not even you, Keith Kogane, could be this thirsty for Shiro!_ The traitorous lizard part of his brain protests loudly in response, already revelling in the sensation of a callused palm pressing lightly against his brow and in the worry swirling in Shiro’s dark eyes as he leans closer. _But it’s everything that you’ve ever dreamed of and wanted! Plus he needs your help too! It’s a win-win situation!_ The voice grows louder as smooth metal sweeps his bangs away from his eyes, carding carefully through his hair. _Shiro doesn’t even need to know! He can’t need your help for that long either, right? Better to have loved than to not have loved at all!_ Warm peppermint-scented breath washes gently over his lips, and Keith’s half-hearted resolve collapses in its death throes.

“Keith, I’m sorry! I should have never-”

“What the hell, let’s do this.”

Before he can even think about mentally slapping himself, the cheerful voice echoes through his brain once more, far too cheerful for such a serious matter. _Just don’t let Shiro find out!_

Keith clears his throat, his gaze falling away from Shiro’s eyes to fall on the small tower of notebooks on his desk. “Actually, can we do something first?”

_No backing out now._

 

* * *

 

 _No one should look that cute when their brows are that furrowed,_ Keith thinks as Shiro tugs the crinkled piece of paper closer to himself with a soft hum. _Especially when they’re looking at a_ …

His own gaze drops towards the hastily scribbled agreements scrawled all over the page, the mixture of his chicken scratch with Shiro’s neat penmanship bringing a flush to his face. Shiro taps at the first statement, his head tilting slightly as his free hand rubs at his chin. “Keith, why no kissing?”

“Um.”

_Fuck._

His brain betrays him again by redirecting his eyes to the cupid bow of Shiro’s lips, to the faint layer of chapstick smeared over them, and the barely noticeable indents of his teeth in the flesh, and Keith gulps, a warmth flooding his face all the way to the tips of his ears with every deafening thud of his heart. _Fuck. Think, think, think; he can’t find out this quickly! Or ever!_

“Ah! You don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable, but I was just curious and-”

“Because kissing you would be like kissing my brother!”

Keith’s voice rings out loudly enough throughout the now-suffocating confines of his room that Kosmo hops off the bed with a grumble to curl up in the doorway. The heat drains from his cheeks so rapidly that his vision swims before his eyes, and he digs his fingers into the bedspread as he clears his throat, his heart still pounding in his ears under the weight of Shiro’s gaze. “Well, um. We’ve known each other for so long, and I guess. It would feel weird. Kissing you. Because I’ve always thought of you as a brother. My entire life, in fact!”

Shiro snorts, brushing his hair back. “I guess that makes sense. If it ever gets too weird or uncomfortable, let me know?”

Keith’s own response is immediate, his watery smile growing in strength as he shuffles closer to Shiro to dig his elbow into the hard muscle of Shiro’s waist, grinning when it does its intended effect of relaxing him. “Only if you do the same.”

Shiro laughs, nudging his shoulder gently as he leans further against Keith’s body, brandishing the paper between his fingers with a soft crinkle. “Any other suggestions?”

His lips are stretched upwards in a gentle smirk, the mischief chasing away the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles beneath them slightly less noticeable in the soft light of the room. The thin sheen of chapstick coating Shiro’s mouth is even more obvious, and Keith fights back a gulp as he tears his gaze away to pore over the increasingly ineligible script, the warmth from where they’re pressed together from hip to thigh almost too much to bear. _His mouth is so pink; I wonder how soft it must feel._

“Can I take another look quickly?”

Warm breath fans over Keith’s cheek, and shivers run down his spine as the phantom sensation of Shiro’s lips tickles the shell of his ear, his head dipping down in a stiff nod. The metal of Shiro’s prosthetic brushes along the back of Keith’s hand when he reaches over to add another suggestion to the paper with a soft grin, tapping the end of his pen against his bottom lip as he looks carefully over the new words with a furrowed brow. Keith’s heartbeat grows faster, louder, heavier. _So close. All you need to do is lean in just a little bit and you’ll be able to feel-_

_No! Shiro can’t know! He can never know!_

Keith shakes the thoughts away as they continue looking over the rest of the agreements in silence, up until he can’t resist adding in a snarky comment next to one of Shiro’s statements, his stuck out tongue turning into squawking screeches when Shiro simply adds his own before tackling him across the bed to tickle him with a mock growl. The heat igniting in his veins from Shiro pinning his wrists against his pillows rapidly dissipates at Kosmo’s sharp _yip_ as he charges down the stairs again, the click of a key in the lock all too loud to Keith’s ears even over his enthusiastic barks. Above him, Shiro’s breath catches in his chest, the warmth of his body snatched away as he scrambles to get off of him, just as his mom’s voice booms through the house. “Keith?”

Keith clears his throat, his voice shaky despite his best efforts, the last embers of his arousal escaping his body through his own shout. “I-I’m upstairs!”

“Is Shiro up there with you? I can see his shoes.”

Across from him, Shiro lets out a shaky huff, his hair flopping over his face in disarray, his voice as breathless as Keith’s as he replies, “Yes, Mrs. Kogane.”

“Oh, don’t mind me then! Carry on with what you were doing!”

And just like that, the fire in his veins returns with a vengeance for a wholly different reason as Keith’s gaze falls onto the rumpled blanket, the memory of strong hands gripping his wrists and pressing them into soft fabric sending his heart battering against his chest. Across from him, there’s a healthy flush on Shiro’s face, his chest still heaving as he brushes his white forelock out of his eyes. His gaze falls on the small strip of paper between them, the white of the sheet standing out against the deep red and black checkerboard pattern of the blanket, and Keith clears his throat again. “So, we’re really doing this, huh?”

Shiro gulps, one hand reaching up to scratch at his nape. “I guess we are.”

His shoulders rise to his ears as he sucks in a deep breath, before his arms are opening wide, the space between them beckoning like a siren’s call. Keith doesn’t hesitate, the springs of his bed squeaking as he drops into Shiro’s embrace, his body already relaxing even before Shiro’s arms close firmly around him, pulling him close to rest against his chest.  “Keith, promise me that we’ll stay friends no matter what happens? I can’t bear to lose you too.”

His hands tighten around Shiro’s shoulders, and he forces a swallow past the growing lump in his throat, the steady _thumps_ of Shiro’s heart seeming to beat in time with his own. “You’ll never lose me, Shiro; I’ll never give up on us.”

Beneath his fingers, the tension in Shiro’s shoulders drains away, and Keith sucks in a breath as he’s tugged closer with a soft sigh breathed against his neck.

_I swear that you’ll never find out how I truly feel._

They pull apart slowly, and Keith relishes in the way that Shiro’s hands slide along his back and waist, his lips pulling up in a chuckling grin at the smile lighting up Shiro’s eyes and his face, the last traces of exhaustion banished away. “I should get going then; Grandpa’s waiting for me to help him with dinner.” The smirk returns, and Keith pouts as Shiro’s fingers thread through the strands of his hair once more, his breath catching in his throat when he leans in close to whisper into his ear. “Can’t wait to pick you up tomorrow morning.”

Keith sticks out his tongue even as he nuzzles into the touch, grinning when Shiro pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Just try it, old timer.”

Shiro chuckles, giving his hair one last ruffle before they make their way downstairs, the gentle _thumps_ of their socked feet on wood drowned out by Kosmo’s enthusiastic squeaks and his mother’s voice ringing out from the kitchen. “Shiro! Would you like to stay for dinner?”

He hears more than sees Shiro’s smile in the ways it threads through his voice and in his soft laugh as he turns towards her, the back of his hand sending sparks through Keith’s body from where it brushes against his. “I’m busy tonight but next time, Mrs. Kogane, I promise.”

A shiver runs down Keith’s back as Shiro’s hand slides into his jacket pocket despite the familiarity of the action, the sensation still clinging to his body long after he closes the door with a soft click and a wave, and Shiro’s silhouette fades away from the frosted glass window. His lips twitch as he reaches into his pocket to feel the gift Shiro left behind, a giggle escaping his mouth as the remaining warmth from Shiro’s hands clings to his fingers.

“So Keith...”

His mother is leaning against the counter when he slowly turns towards her, her arms crossed over her bright purple apron as she fixes on him with an arched eyebrow. “Shiro seemed happy, did everything work out for him in the end?”

The notepad paper is soft from their repeated touches, and Keith sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he traces a line between the indents of his and Shiro’s initials, his heart leaping into his throat and a giddy grin spreading across his lips. “I guess you could say that.”

 

* * *

 

**LIST OF AGREEMENTS & WAYS TO MAKE PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT WE ARE DATING:** 

****1) No Kissing!** **

_2) Whoever wakes up the earliest goes to pick up the late riser at their house_ **(I’ll beat you at this for sure, old timer)** _(Don’t underestimate the lacrosse practice schedule)_

 **3) Casual PDA is encouraged (we gotta make it believable!), but limited to hugs and holds of any kind** _(What we normally do, just longer then)_

 _4) Attend Garrison Lions games_ **(Already do)**  

****4a) Keith is allowed to wear Shiro’s varsity jacket if cold** **

****5) At least one date/outing a week** **

_6) Spend time alone together during December ski trip (you have to try the Black Lion run, Keith!)_ _  
_  

**K. Kogane**

_T. Shirogane_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to hit me up on [tumblr](https://history-rover.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/exhaustedseeker), or to leave a comment below!


	5. And I'm on the Bleachers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to [Grace](https://twitter.com/Angelicsilver39) for looking over this for me!
> 
> Title of this chapter comes from Taylor Swift's You Belong with Me.

Fake dating Shiro, Keith finds, is eerily similar to their regular relationship, even if the changes manifest in the most obvious of ways. It shows in his updated alarm times to ride to school with Shiro, studying in the empty library or in the bleachers after hugging Shiro goodbye at morning lacrosse practice as he fights off yawns with too much caffeine and toast dripping with cherry jam. It shows in the way he fits himself perfectly against Shiro’s side with a smirk and an extra spring in his step as a strong arm drapes around his shoulders to tug him even closer when they walk through the school hallways. It shows in his favourite hair tie finding a new home around Shiro’s wrist. It shows in Shiro’s favourite snacks being carefully stowed away in his bag. It shows in the good morning and good night texts, in addition to their regular conversations, that become the first and last things he read when he wakes up and before he falls asleep. It shows in the squeezes to Keith’s shoulder, as Shiro flits from student to frowning student in Tutoring Club, that last a little too long to be casual or accidental. It shows in their hangouts cum dates that occur more than the agreed once per week; in the way their bikes inch closer together with every lap around the park trails, in the ways they inch closer during studying sessions, and in how they stumble together into the Corner Cafe’s booth seats with flushed cheeks and rapid heartbeats on Keith’s end. And it most definitely shows in his nervousness as the Garrison Lion’s first practice match of the new season draws ever closer, his fingers trailing over every single item of clothing in his closet with each passing day.

 

* * *

 

_For fuck’s sake,_ Keith thinks as he shoves another rejected article of clothing back into the closet, his lips drawing up into a scowl when it refuses to return to its allocated space despite the abundance of room. By his foot, Kosmo lets out a soft whine, his tail smacking against Keith’s calves as he turns around to leave him to his poor life decisions, or rather, his current lack of them. _Just pick something already._ _You’re acting like you’ve never gone to one of Shiro’s games before._ The faded old flannel falls to the ground, its red and black pattern seeming to judge him from where it lies among other discarded choices as the cheerful voice he’s come to associate with his more impulsive decisions whispers loudly in his head. _But you’ve never gone as his boyfriend! You have to dress to impress!_ Keith shakes his head, the muscles of his heart twisting in guilty pleasure even as he fights the thought away with a groan. _Fake boyfriend. Now pick something to wear already! You’re gonna be late!_

“Go with what you’re comfortable, Keith.”

“Mom!”

From his place sitting on his mother’s foot, Kosmo gives a happy  _ boof _ , his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he barrels his way across the room to dig through the pile of clothes pooled in front of his closet, the dark fur of his tail blurred with movement when he reemerges with a faded graphic tee in his mouth. Despite himself, Keith chuckles, his mom’s laughter joining his as she strides forward to gently yank the rapidly dampening piece of clothing from Kosmo. “Where’s that red jacket of yours? You wore it to the final game last season.”

_ And Shiro joked that it brought them good luck.  _ He kicks said jacket beneath his bed, his voice coming out as a grumble as he crosses his arms tightly across his chest. “That’s not good enough this time.”  _ Plus everyone’s seen me in it a thousand times already. Including Shiro. _

His mother nods, rubbing absentmindedly at a remaining patch of drool on the shirt. “You know Shiro isn’t going to care about what you wear.”

He drops onto his bed with a groan, holding his hand out for Kosmo as he trots over to nudge at him with his nose. “I know Shiro won’t, but  _ I _ do, Mom.” Behind him, the telltale buzz of his phone is muffled from where it’s stuffed beneath his blanket. “The whole school’s going to be there.”  _ Lotor is going to be there. And Adam. _ His jaw tightens, his nails digging into the meat of his thighs even through the thick fabric of his jeans. “And I need to make a statement.”

His mom strokes at her chin before her mouth stretches into a wide grin, her gaze already running slowly over the puddle of clothing spilled out across his floor. “Then how about...what you usually wear, with a twist?”

Keith smirks. “Now that I can definitely do.”

 

* * *

 

**_From Keith <16:45>_ **

_ I’m making my way through the parking lot now; go pump up your team Captain! :) _

Shiro frowns.  _ Keith always arrives early to get the better spots. I hope everything’s alright. _

Before he can run his thumb over the sender’s name again, a rough slap is delivered between his shoulder blades, and he bites back a wince, his phone nearly flying out of his hands as his ears are assaulted by an excited yell. “Captain! Ready to kick some ass?”

Behind him, a familiar voice cuts through the remaining chatter of the team and the conversations of the crowd gathering in the bleachers, the sound adding a new tension to his shoulders even as it removes those caused by the pre-game jitters. “Lance, calm down.”

“Jeez, you’re  _ adamant _ about keeping things calm and in order, aren’t you, Mr. Vice-Captain?” Shiro turns around just in time to catch Rolo draping himself across over Adam’s shoulders, his lacrosse stick nearly clacking against his vice-captain’s helmet before he snatches it away at the last possible second. “A little extra enthusiasm never killed nobody.”

Lance grins reaching out to meet Rolo’s gloved hand for a high-five. “Right? I mean, it certainly helps when you’ve got a special someone cheering and supporting you in the stands too!”

From where he’s helping James warm up by the seats, Ryan arches an eyebrow, his helmet resting on the grass. “Allura managed to come tonight?”

If possible, the grin on Lance’s face grows even wider as he looks out towards the crowd, cradling his lacrosse stick closer to his chest. “Can you believe she pushed back Wednesday night dinner with her parents just so she could make it here? I truly have the best girlfriend.”

Rolo chuckles, the sound trailing off into a barely repressed wince when he punches Shiro’s right arm. “Speaking of which, is yours coming tonight, Captain?”

Shiro doesn’t need to see the grimace on Adam’s face to know it’s there; the twist of his mouth obvious in the way the muscles of his neck grow tense, in how his grip tightens around that of his lacrosse stick, and in the way his back straightens to a near military standard.  _ It’s been two weeks, surely he must be over us by now.  _ His lips twist into a grimace of their own as Adam turns away, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.  _ Clearly not.  _

“Look about my...boyf-”

“Oi! Is that...Keith?”

Even muffled by a mouthguard and a helmet, the disbelief in James’ voice rings loud and clear, and beside him, Lance shoves off his helmet and makes an exaggerated squint. “That or his alternate universe persona.” 

Sure enough, making their way through the crowd swarming for seats in the bleachers is a familiar figure, and Shiro’s jaw drops open as Keith finally breaks free of a large group to make his way to the fence dividing them. 

_ Holy shit. _

The bright red of Keith’s lips contrasts strikingly with the relative paleness of his skin, the galaxy black of his tee only serving to further highlight the difference, until all Shiro can think about is kissing the colour away, until his own mouth is waxy with the shade. His gaze shifts lower as Keith continues his jog down the steps, the tight black jeans hugging his long legs like a second skin, accentuating the strong lines of muscle, and all the blood in Shiro’s brain rushes South in an instant. His feet tremble as he fights to stay standing in the wake of the sudden dizziness, and a spike of shame twists at the muscles of his heart at the distinctive sensation in his groin.  _ He only sees you as a brother. He only sees you as a brother. He only sees you as a brother. _

“Shiro?”

“K-Keith. Hi. How are you?”

Not even the pain of his nails digging into the skin of his palms is enough to fight back the rapidly growing haze of lust as Keith fiddles with a strand of hair dangerously close to his lips, his gaze flickering between Shiro’s and his boots. His heeled biker boots. Shiro gulps, the sound thankfully masked by the chatters of the ever-growing crowd and the snickers and banter of his own team.  _ Fuck, they make his legs look even longer. _

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when Keith clears his throat, the deep violet scarf tied in a French knot around his neck bobbing when he follows it up with a soft gulp of his own, “Well for starters, a bit cold.”

Before Shiro realises it, his varsity jacket is in his hands, the fading sensation of wind across his skin the only indication that he had even grabbed it from its place on the seats, his knuckles brushing against cool collarbones as he drapes it over Keith’s shoulders. “H-Here you go.”

Despite everything, hunger blooms in his gut at the sight as Keith tugs the green and orange fabric tighter around himself, a deeply buried sense of possessiveness crowing in delight when Keith snuggles deeper into the jacket with a blush and a small smile. “Thank you Shiro, I feel a  _ lot _ warmer now.”

If possible, more blood pools into Shiro’s groin, enough that he has to fight the urge to slam his head straight into the railing, or to turn around and run a lap around the field until he can look Keith in the eyes again. Before he can do either, he’s hit with another slap to the back, his eyes widening along with Keith’s as he stumbles forward, his lips tingling with anticipation before he slams a hand into the fence with a rattle to stop himself.

“Give our Captain a good luck kiss!”

Rolo’s declaration is met with a roar from that of the rest of the Lions, followed by an answering cheer from the crowd, and Shiro blanches. “Ah, please don’t pressure-”

His words die in his mouth as familiar fingers slide into his hair to yank his head upwards, and all of Shiro’s breath leaves his body in a gasp as warm lips, tacky with lipstick, are pressed firmly to his forehead. Distantly, he can feel his helmet threatening to slip from his gloved fingers as a warm exhale fans across his scalp, and his hands itch to grasp Keith by his waist, to tug him closer, to squeeze at the firm muscle there as they share a kiss of a different kind. He gulps again as the lips linger on his brow.  _ Brother. Brother. Brother. Brother. He only sees you as a brother. _

This time, the thing that smacks against Shiro’s back isn’t a hand or a padded glove, but the shaft of a lacrosse stick, and the sound that tumbles from his throat is a full fledged yelp as he spins around to meet a sheepish James with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sorry to cut in on your time, Captain! But um. We do have a game to play and that was the fastest way to check if you were still alive.”

“James, what the fuck!”

Shiro’s breath catches in his lungs as Keith rubs at the sore spot, his hands pressing deep into the muscle in a way that makes his legs grow weaker, his snarl stealing Shiro’s breath from his lungs. “Hitting Shiro wasn’t necessary!”

Any other person would have been cowled by James’ glare as he rises to his full height, had they not been himself or Keith. “I’m sorry, but there are more important things than giving your boyfriend a kiss!”

Keith scoffs, his hands tightening from where they’ve moved to Shiro’s shoulders, the sensation obvious despite the generous protection there. “Like you of all people have a leg to stand on!”

“Oi, at least I keep my makeouts with my boyfriend until after the game-”

“Guys!”

Another lacrosse stick strikes hard against the earth, and they all look as one towards Lance, his dark eyes unusually serious for the situation, his voice shaky but strong nonetheless. “We have a game to play!”

Shiro sighs, his hands sliding over Keith’s before he slowly steps away from the warmth of his body. “Lance is right, we do have a game.”

Lance’s grin returns to his face, his voice carrying out throughout the crowd as he shouts, “See Allura? I can be responsible!”

From her place high up in the bleachers, Allura lets out a raucous laugh, snowy white curls bouncing down her shoulders as she throws her head back, before blowing a kiss to Lance, who catches it with an exaggerated gasp. Even at a distance, the glint of her school vice-captain’s badge is obvious from where it’s pinned on the varsity jacket draped around her shoulders, and as she spins around to point at the name sewn onto the back with a grin, Shiro can’t help but imagine Keith doing the same, the very thought drying his throat before he shakes his head.  _ No use thinking about what will never happen. _

“Shiro?”

Rough fingertips and the fuzzy fabric of his varsity jacket sleeve brush along the inside of Shiro’s wrist as Keith carefully takes his helmet from his loosened grip, the remaining hand on his shoulder slowly turning him around to meet Keith’s gaze. At this distance, it’s impossible to ignore the lipstick smudged at the corner of Keith’s mouth, the faint scent of cologne, or the flush settled high in his cheeks, and sweat begins to bead at his temples as Keith lowers the helmet onto his head with a small smile. “Go win this...Captain.”

The tap to his chest is as familiar as ever, and Shiro chuckles. “Don’t we always, Keith?”

As he sets out to join the rest of the Lions, in the corner of his vision, Keith draws his jacket up to his face, his eyes slipping shut in a way that could only be described as blissful, and Shiro’s breath catches in his throat once again, his feet stumbling in their rhythm.

_ Keith’s smart; he wouldn’t have come without a jacket if he knew the night was going to be this cold. Unless… _

The mere thought of Keith braving the cold weather, no matter how short a period, just for the sake of wearing his name fills him with an energy no roaring crowd, the determination of his team, or even his own competitiveness could ever hope to replicate, and he shakes off the lingering doubts and grins.

_ We have a game to win after all. _

 

* * *

 

_ Holy shit that was hot. _ Even with the helmet covering a majority of Shiro’s face, the raw power in every one of his movements and in his voice as he shouted encouragement after encouragement during the game had been enough to send shivers down Keith’s spine and a flush to his face that had nothing to do with the cold. By the time Shiro dashes back to him, grinning with the high of victory, face red, and hair plastered to his face with sweat, his heart is still racing in his chest, and Keith stands a little straighter, all too aware of the name sewn across the back of the jacket covering his shoulders. “Didn’t I tell you, Keith?”

If possible, the heat in Keith’s cheeks grows as Shiro leans closer, the metal fence separating them creaking from the added weight, and despite the smirk stretched across his lips, the playfulness in his eyes remains, bleeding into his voice. “That we always win?”

_ Fuck I could kiss you right now _ . Thankfully, some semblance of blood and rationality remains in his brain because he simply clears his throat, reaching out to give Shiro a quick pat on the shoulder. “Never doubted the team for a second. Or you.” His breath catches in his throat when Shiro rests a gloved hand over his own, the smirk softening to the smile that never fails to make his heart skip a beat. “I don’t know, Keith, I don’t think I’ve ever played so well.”

The faintest traces of smudged lipstick remain on Shiro’s brow despite the dirt and sweat streaked there, the red peeking out from beneath strands of damp white hair, and Keith gulps as Shiro reaches up to carefully brush at the mark. “You’re getting sentimental, old timer.”

Shiro gasps, and a squeal trickles easily from Keith’s throat as another gloved hand sinks into his hair to ruffle at the strands, their shared giggles quickly following suit when it slides down to tickle beneath his ribs. “I’m only a year older than you, Keith!”

_ Sweat, dirt, and grass should not smell this hot.  _ He shakes the thought away, his own fingers sinking into the silky material of Shiro’s jersey as he gently eases them apart with a final laugh, his heart still thumping against the walls of his chest when the hand at his waist remains. The rhythm only increases when he looks up to meet Shiro’s gaze, his voice coming out as a breathless whisper as the flush on Shiro’s cheeks deepens along with his own.  _ Close. Too close.  _ Still, he can’t bring himself to pull away, dirt and fabric digging deeper beneath his nails, his eyes flickering between Shiro’s nose and the sweat beading just above his mouth. “So what now?”

“Yo lover boys, are we getting the post-game dinner or what? You promised to shout us if we won, Captain!”

And just like that, the moment is shattered as Shiro breaks their shared gaze to clear his throat before turning away, his hand leaving Keith’s waist a moment later, and Keith represses the urge to glare at Rolo, who now commands Shiro’s attention, his throat tightening as he forces the annoyance away.  _ Stop it. You have no right; you know the two of you aren’t even dating for real. _ Whatever Shiro said must have appeased his teammate, because he immediately turns around to wave and shout at the others, and Shiro immediately turns back towards him with an apology in his eyes. “Sorry about that Keith, but I should go and help the others pack up. Do...do you want to come with us afterwards to Vrepit Sal’s?”

_ Right, the after-game dinner. _ Just the very thought of it sends a shiver down his spine, the chill rapidly cooling the flush on his cheeks as he lets out a slow breath. _ That only team members and their families or their S.O.s are allowed to attend.  _ There’s already a heavy gaze resting on his shoulders even as the thought goes through his mind, and it takes only a quick glance towards the remaining members of the Lions still on the field for Keith to confirm who it’s from, and his spine straightens.  _ That your fake boyfriend’s ex is also attending. _

The weight lifts as familiar hands land on his upper arms to gently shake him back into looking into Shiro’s eyes, the gentleness in them turning his knees weak. “It’s not a big deal, Keith; you don’t have to go if you don’t-”

Keith’s hands tighten from where they’re still clinging to Shiro’s jersey, the corners of his mouth curving into what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I’ll go. I want to go.”

Of course, it doesn’t fool Shiro, not for a second as his own hands move to gently slide over Keith’s, the gesture so minor compared to what they’ve already done through the years that Keith almost lets out a laugh. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Keith’s grin grows into a smirk, his fingers curling tighter in Shiro’s grip. “As sure as the fact that you’re itching to go and help everyone pack up.”

Shiro chuckles, his gaze flickering between Keith’s eyes and the unsubtle eavesdropping of his teammates behind him before he slowly tugs his hands free, his prosthetic immediately going to scratch at his nape. “Do you mind waiting? Packing up shouldn’t take too long, but I’d like to take a quick shower before we go.”

Keith sucks in a deep breath, his fingers already itching to slip themselves into Shiro’s reassuring grip. “Of course! Now go. Be great and set a good example,  _ Captain. _ ”

He squawks as Shiro gently flicks at his cheek, leaping backwards with a grin before Keith can even think to retaliate. “That’s my line and you know it.”

He gives off a lazy salute as Shiro turns around to join the rest of his team, the apprehension from earlier creeping back to the forefront of his mind in the form of a dry throat even as his gaze drops to the unobstructed view of Shiro’s shoulders and ass in his uniform. 

_ I can do this. I can totally do this. _

 

* * *

 

_ I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. This is everything I’ve ever wished for. _

The words repeat in Keith’s head like a twisted mantra in time with the clicks of their bicycle wheels on pavement, the cool wind brushing against the exposed skin of his throat and face doing little to calm the nerves tingling beneath the surface of his skin. 

_ I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. This is everything I’ve- _

He yelps as Shiro rushes past him with a rattling of metal and a laugh that echoes down the mostly empty street, the loose fabric of Shiro’s jacket rustling against Keith’s sides from the sudden burst of movement. “Come on, catch up!”

All worries flee from Keith’s mind, his hands tightening in their grip around the handlebars, the muscles of his thighs burning as he pedals harder to overtake Shiro with a shout, the smell of grease and petrol growing stronger as the neon sign of Vrepit Sal’s unblurs from a jumble of purple and red lights in the distance, the rush of early evening traffic drowning out the pounding of his heart. Despite his efforts, and a near miss with the boot of a passing Sedan, it’s still not enough, his bicycle rattling into the packed parking lot just as Shiro dismounts, breathless laughter still tumbling out of Keith’s mouth as he pulls up beside him. “Alright, you win this one.”  _ Again.  _ “But I’ll get you next time!”

Shiro chuckles, his prosthetic snapping the bike lock shut with a click as his free hand makes its way to rub at Keith’s nape. “I can’t wait for the day that you do, Keith.” If possible, his gaze grows even softer, trickling down to the edges of his smile, and heat blooms in Keith’s cheeks, his fingers fumbling in their grip around his own bike lock as he clears his throat. “You bet. Now let’s go. Winner still buys the loser a drink, yeah?”

The warm calloused palm at his neck tightens its squeeze, and Keith’s heart gives its habitual flutter as Shiro’s thumb swipes at the corner of his jaw. “Anything for you.”

His knees threaten to buckle from beneath him as the breath is punched out of his body, Shiro’s words twisting at his heart until he can barely beat back the hope flaming beneath his skin, his knuckles growing white around the rapidly warming metal of his bike lock.  _ Nothing’s changed between the two of you just because you’ve got this arrangement. You know he doesn’t mean it like that. _

Somehow the grin on Keith’s face remains, held up by the remnants of the joy from their impromptu race and Shiro’s own widening smile. The thumb at his jaw moves to swipe over his cheekbone. “So you ready, Keith?”

The silhouette of the Lions is obvious through the dust streaked windows, and Keith fights back a gulp at the mass of movement, their laughter and banter trickling through the gaps of the door to reach his ears.  _ This is part of the package of being Shiro’s boyfriend. You knew this. You wanted this. _

“Yeah! L-Let’s do this!”

Even in the dim light, the arch of Shiro’s brow at the hitch in his voice is obvious, and Keith swallows as his hand is carefully encased by warm metal fingers. “You really don’t have to come if you don’t want to, Keith; I can text Adam and we can go and grab dinner together somewhere else.”

Just the very mention of Adam’s name is enough to steel Keith’s resolve, and he grits his teeth, fitting himself closer to Shiro’s side before he loses any more of his nerve, tension further draining away from his body when Shiro’s prosthetic wraps around his shoulders instead.  _ Calm down, you can do this. _ “Won’t people might find it odd that your...your boyfriend isn’t coming along to the post-game dinner? Even if it was just a practice match?”

Shiro snorts, the scent of school-issue soap and shampoo being joined by the ever strengthening smell of fryer grease and freshly grilled meat. “Keith, the dinners really aren’t that big of a deal; Most of the team isn’t even going to be here tonight. Besides, Allura misses half of them, and no one ever teases Lance about it.”

_ But she’s the vice-captain of the school council and your ex is the other perfect student of Garrison High. I’m just...me. _

“I’m no Allura though.”

Soft cotton rubs against Keith’s cheek as Shiro pulls him in for a tight one-armed hug, his grin seeping into the words whispered against his temple. “Good. Because Keith Kogane is my best friend and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It barely takes a second for Keith to sink further against Shiro, his own hands reaching up to wrap around Shiro’s waist. The soles of their shoes shuffle on concrete until brick rubs at their skin through their clothes, the slowly growing chill, his steadily loosening shoulders, and the gradual synchronisation of their breathing the only indication of time passing. It’s only when the cold begins to raise goosebumps along Keith’s exposed skin that Shiro speaks again, his hand running gently over the line of his arm. “You ready?”

_ Are you sure? _

The unspoken question rings loud and clear in Keith’s mind as he slowly pulls away to return Shiro’s grin with one of his own. “Let’s do this.”

And with that, he pushes open the doors with an eruption of chatter.

 

“Captain’s here! Look busy!”

Even with the shouting of orders, clinking cutlery, and rabble of conversation, Keith still winces at the loud shout that echoes through the crowded restaurant, his hand clutching at air before sliding into the grip of smooth metal instead of a softened henley. His soles make a barely audible squeak on the linoleum, his heart aborting its leap into his throat when he forces it back with a swallow and a squeeze of Shiro’s fingers, holding his head high as they approach the table. Shiro only returns his squeeze before addressing the gathered members of the Lions with a chuckle, the lingering chatter at the crowded booth subsiding with easy smiles that still do nothing to ease away the remaining tension in Keith’s shoulders. “Isn’t the point to say that  _ before _ I actually arrive, Lance?”

Lance replies with a snort of his own as he slowly sits up from his casual sprawl. “It’s tradition though!”

On the other side of the table wedged between Ryan and Adam, James takes a sip of his iced tea. “Not like you ever respected it.”

“Shut up, James.”

“You do it first and then we’ll see.”

“Okay, first off-”

“Everyone.”

The firm edge to Adam’s voice silences the table an instant, the lines between his brows softening as he reaches up to adjust his glasses. “Takashi’s here so let’s order shall we?”

Keith resists the urge to cross his arms, if only because it would mean pulling his hand from Shiro’s grasp. 

_ Acting as though I still don’t exist. Typical. _

“Saved you the best seat in the house, Captain!”

Keith’s teeth dig into his bottom lip as he fights back a grimace.  _ Of all people, why him? _

The booth seating is already crowded with Shiro taking up a majority of the space, the warmth and dip in the vinyl seating all too obvious as he slowly slides in after Shiro. His lips curl up into a scowl when Lance crashes against his side with another burst of raucous laughter, the barest hint of contact already too much to bear as he scrambles to get away.

And right into Shiro’s embrace. If the Lions notice, they hide it well; apart from James’ eyebrow raise as he shuffles closer to Ryan in return, the conversations and discussions flowing on in between the crinkling and flipping of laminated menu pages as if nothing of note had happened.  _ Because nothing did. This is what people who are dating tend to do.  _ The memories of their everyday hugs in the school hallways, their giggle-filled antics in the engineering club, and the cuddling sessions during their childhood and middle school years stream to the forefront of Keith’s mind and he gulps.  _ No,  _ His brain corrects in a voice remarkably similar to Acxa’s _ , This is what the two of you have always done.  _ He shakes his head, his lips twitching into a smile despite the churning in his stomach when Shiro slides a hand over his own in the limited space between their bodies.

_ You’re friends, nothing more. Shiro can never find out. _

Still, he stays huddled as close as possible as orders are rattled off to the too tired and too amused waiter - his bacon burger with steamed vegetables and fries a world away from the grilled chicken sandwiches, salads, and rice bowls ordered by the rest of the table; as he helps to pass around cutlery and napkins; and as jugs of juice, water, and a glass of Vanilla Coke for him arrive to cheers and Shiro’s wink, the thumb stroking over the back of his hand and over his knuckles throughout it all sending fluttering sensations down his spine.

“Takashi, help me pour?”

This time it really does take every ounce of self-restraint in Keith’s body to fight back his scowl as the moment is promptly broken; Shiro hurriedly letting go of his hand to help distribute the drinks, the barest hint of a smile on Adam’s face telling him all that he needs to know. The bitter taste of jealousy fills his mouth, his knuckles already itching for the sensation of rough calluses.

_ Shiro’s not yours anymore.  _

“And then it was like-WOAH!”

He yelps as Lance’s enthusiastic wave outwards narrowly misses his jaw, the rapid apologies and “what the hells” falling away as he jackknifes away on instinct. The hand still clinging to the memory of Shiro’s prosthetic flings out for balance, his teeth biting together in a hiss when his nails clip against the table and continue their descent, pressing into the firm warmth of the vinyl booth seating.  _ Wait, vinyl doesn’t feel this warm. Or this rough.  _ Pressed tightly against Shiro’s side, Keith feels more than hears his sudden intake of shaky breath, the surface beneath his hand growing firmer, and his eyes widen as his gaze slowly drops.

_Oh._ Heat fills his face at the sight of his fingers splayed out across the jean clad flesh of Shiro’s upper thigh, his hand barely able to span even half the surface, the relative paleness of his skin a direct contrast to the dark wash of the material. _That is_ _definitely not the booth seating_. Keith’s throat dries further as he slowly looks up, the briefest glance of a noticeable outline pressing against the zipper sending an all too familiar wave of shame pulsating in his body before he meets Shiro’s wide eyes with a gulp, the flush in his own cheeks no doubt matching the deep red flooding Shiro’s. “Um. I’m so sorry.”

The muscle beneath him shifts, Shiro’s voice raspy and tight when he carefully leans in to whisper into his ear, the slowly growing warmth from his body driving Keith’s heartbeat faster and louder in his ears. “It’s okay. Just um. Maybe not so high?”

“Right! Got it!”

He winces at the high pitch of his voice as his hand immediately slides a little lower, his face fit to let off steam when Lance lets out a sharp wolf whistle, the waggling of his eyebrows obvious even from the corner of Keith’s vision. Across from him, James’ jaw drops open before his gaze hardens, and he wraps an arm around Ryan’s cardigan-clad shoulders with an arched eyebrow and a smirk, his fingers digging creases into the cream-coloured cotton. Lance groans. “Oh come on, now I’ve got to deal with  _ two  _ of you?”

Keith frowns.  _ What? _ He must have said it out loud, because Lance responds with another groan that is somehow louder than the first, ignoring both James and Adam’s loud  _ shushes _ . “More people trying to one-up me and Allura!”

James snorts, his eyes somehow never leaving Keith’s as he presses closer to Ryan to plant a kiss against his temple, his free hand raising his glass of juice in a mock toast. “Way to talk to the undisputed champions of PDA, Lance.” His smirk widens. “No way anyone can beat us.”

Keith’s eyes narrow into a glare, his hand pressing harder against the solid muscles of Shiro’s upper thigh as he straightens his back, the twitch at the corner of Shiro’s mouth, and the fire in his eyes all the encouragement he needs. Across from him, Adam’s eyes widen as he no doubt takes in the same sight, and Keith’s mouth hardens, the hand not warmed by Shiro curling into a tight fist.  _ Game fucking on. _

 

_ Normally, I wouldn’t back down from a challenge but... _

The hand on his thigh - his _middle_ _upper_ thigh - hasn’t moved for the past fifteen minutes even as the number of dishes served continues to grow, and Shiro hides his gulp behind a large sip of water as all the feelings from his pre-game interaction with Keith return with a vengeance, his jeans already growing uncomfortably tight around his groin. _Focus. Focus, Shiro._ He shivers as Keith’s hand slides down further to squeeze what he can of his knee, the plastic in his his grip creaking ominously. Across from him, Adam arches an eyebrow, his fork digging through a stray salad leaf to press into ceramic with a loud _clink_ that is quickly swept away by a surge in conversation around the table, and Shiro’s own thoughts as Keith’s hand slowly climbs higher once more.

_ I know that I said I was fine with this but still... this isn’t very...brotherly. Is he really okay with this? _

“Shiro?”

The light tapping on his leg might as well have been on his bare skin as he sits up straight, the slightly higher pitch of his voice earning a snort from Ryan and Lance when he speaks, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Keith smiles, the pink in his face highlighting the line of his cheekbones in a way that steals Shiro’s breath from his lungs as he leans closer, his gaze dropping to the line of Shiro’s throat when he takes another quick sip of his drink.

“Could I please have some of your water? I’d pour some for myself, but I don’t want to ask for another cup when all I need is a small sip.”

The glass is back on the table before he realises it, his fingers fumbling around the paper wrapping of another straw. “Sure, let me get you ano-”

Shiro’s jaw drops open when Keith promptly wraps his lips around his straw, the freshly applied lipstick all the more vibrant against the black plastic, his eyelashes fanning across his cheekbones as he swallows his sip with a soft moan. In the corner of his vision, he’s only vaguely aware of the twitch in Adam’s jaw as he spears another bite of his salad with more force than necessary, before his attention is pulled back to the pout of Keith’s mouth when he slowly pulls back with a dreamy smile.

“Thank you, Shiro.”

His fingers itch to trace the corners of the smile, to press his thumb against the plump bottom lip, and to smear the lipstick around the skin before kissing it away. He digs his fingers deeper into the wood of the table instead.  _ I-I mean...it’s not like we’ve never shared food or drinks before, but this...this is something else. _

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when a loud and obviously exaggerated cough reaches his ears, followed by a sentence dripping with so much sweetness it makes his teeth ache. Keith’s too if the fingers tightening their grip on his thigh are any indicator. “Hey Ryan, you should totally try this.”

Ryan arches an eyebrow even as he swallows the bite offered to James’ obvious glee. “But I’m having the same thing you’re having.”

James’ grin grows as he leans in to press his lips to Ryan’s with a loud smack. “Who’s to say mine doesn’t taste better?”

Beside him, Keith bites into his burger with a scowl, sauce gathering at the corner of his mouth and sticking to the errant hair tumbling into his face, his scowl deepening further when it stubbornly clings on despite fervent shakes of his head. Before Shiro knows it, the backs of his fingers are brushing against the smooth skin of Keith’s cheek, the hair tie dangling between them from where he’s worked it off of his wrist. “Keith, let me…”

The black strands are soft beneath his fingertips, his fingers sliding through the locks as if they were water when he gathers Keith’s hair into a short ponytail. Distantly, a more primal part of his brain, the one rattling against the cage of  _ brother, brother, brother _ , lets out a deafening roar, and he gulps as the image of his fingers threaded through the same strands while his lips run over the column of Keith’s throat fills his head. “Tell me if it hurts?”

The elastic of the hair tie sticks to the beginnings of sweat on his palms, and it is only by some minor miracle that Keith’s hair does not do the same. If possible, they seem to flare with another burst of heat as bit by bit the pale unmarked skin of Keith’s nape is revealed, and Shiro gulps, itching to drag his teeth along the column of his neck. All too soon, the small but neat ponytail is slipping free from his grasp as he hurriedly sucks down another gulp of water, desperately trying to deny the taste of Keith’s lipstick on his tongue. “There. All done.”

Fingers slide off of his thigh as a light pink floods through Keith’s cheeks, his hand hovering almost awkwardly in the air between them before it moves to pat him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Shiro.”

If Shiro hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn that Keith’s eyes flicked down at his lips for the briefest of seconds in time with his tongue flicking out to lick away a stray droplet, and he hurriedly shoves the fancy away even as the blush on Keith’s face spreads.

On the opposite side of the table, James clears his throat, and when Shiro turns to face him, he appears to be trying his hardest to squeeze onto Ryan’s lap despite the cramped space offered between the table and his boyfriend’s legs, plates and cutlery rattling softly in time with his grunts. “Hey Captain, I know that this might be a bit early to declare,  _ and _ that I may be a bit biased, but I think Ryan deserves the MVP for this game. They couldn’t get a point past him!”

Lance rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, who was getting all those points left, right, and centre again?”

“Not you obviously, since you didn’t make all of them.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Ryan!”

“Well, I think  _ Shiro _ made the best plays of the night.”

Even through the thick fabric of his varsity jacket, the hard lines of Keith’s muscle are all too apparent when pressed against his side, his heartbeat growing louder in his ears as the hand on his shoulder slides down to cling to his bicep. Shivers run down his shoulders, a far cry from the ones caused by his electrostimulator, as soft hair brushes against his jaw, warmth blooming on his shoulder from where Keith rests his cheek. “Since you know, he was the one  _ getting _ all of those points.”

The remaining water in Shiro’s mouth seems to heat from the fever that floods his cheeks, as the memories of the adrenaline from the game, laced with the sensations of Keith’s kiss and the desire to have his eyes on him and him only return with vicious glee. “K-Keith! That wasn’t just me!”

“But you scored the most.”

“But  _ Ryan’s _ the reason why the final score was twenty two to nil our way!”

“Now look here, James-”

Water flies through the air in an impressive arc as Keith’s right hand swings out to collide with a nearby jug of water in his enthusiasm with a crack, the skin already reddening when Shiro reaches for it. 

“Keith are you-”

The hand however, moves before he can grasp it.

“Adam, I’m so sor-”

Keith’s words and his leap from his seat are cut off by the loud yowl that tears from his throat, the force of his knee colliding with the underside of the wooden table enough to nearly lift it off of the floor, the loud bang cutting through the chatter of other patrons. As Keith’s mouth drops open in a silent scream, the world before Shiro’s eyes seeming to slow as Keith’s free hand flies out to cling tightly to the collar of his shirt, the nails digging into his collarbone through the fabric. In the corner of his vision, sandwiches, salads, and cutlery fly into the air, before his gaze refocuses on the tears forming in the corners of Keith’s eyes. Disantly, he can hear Lance’s shriek as he jackknifes backwards to avoid a puddle of dripping soda, followed shortly by a loud thud, the yells and protests of everyone else at the table joining the kerfuffle. It all fades away though, the second Keith curls up tighter against his side, Shiro’s hands already drifting down to clutch him close as he smears his sleeve with salad, soda, and sticky serviettes, stray scraps of food tumbling to land on floor and furniture alike. All at once, the world speeds up once again, snapping Shiro back to attention with the raucous booming in his ears as everyone around him scrambles to get away from the worst of the mess.  _ Right. A mess. I should help clean up. _ Instead, his hands clench deeper into the fabric of Keith’s shirt before slowly travelling downwards, the fabric of his jeans rough beneath his careful touch. “Are you alright? That sounded like it hurt.”

Keith winces, massaging away at his kneecap. Somewhere behind Shiro, a fresh raucous erupts, followed by the shattering of ceramic on an unforgiving surface.  _ Like that matters right now. _ “I’m fine, Shiro. I might need that ‘pain away’ cream of yours though, you’ve got a whole shelf dedicated to that right?”

Shiro snorts, already leaning down to press a kiss to Keith’s temple, the scent of brand name shampoo filtering in through his nose, and strands of hair tickling his lips before he pulls back just in time. “You’re the one who organised it-”

“Takashi, a little help please?”

The front of Adam’s tshirt -  _ wait, I think I won that for him at the carnival last year _ \- is soaked through when Shiro looks up, the wet patch growing larger and larger as he drops to his knees with a handful of napkins and his mouth in a hard line, and Shiro promptly does the same. The rest of the table is about to follow in their stead -  _ Keith, you should be resting your knee, don’t move yet  _ \- when a gruff voice cuts through their own mumbling.

“Huh.”

Sal holds up a menu streaked with the remains of dried-in chocolate sauce, his eyes slowly running over them, the veins at his temple seeming to pop in time with the steady  _ drip-drip-drip _ of liquid trickling off the table to puddle on the floor. “Now which one of you will  _ not _ be having any dessert?”

 

* * *

 

**_From Keith <21:56>_ **

_ Shiro, I would just like to say again for the official record: I am so so sorry. _

**_From Shiro <21:56>_ **

_ Keith, it’s okay. It was an accident. Give me a few more moments, okay? _

His stuttering offers to help clean up the mess largely ignored, Keith had been glared out the door by the owner after two and two had been put together, although not before experiencing one last squeeze from Shiro’s hand. Now the cold bites at his skin through the damp material of his jeans as he sits on the bike rack, and despite the stickiness and the scent of salad dressing clinging to him like too much cologne, he smiles as his phone vibrates with a new message, the blurry image of a visibly cleaner dining area and an even blurrier thumbs-up drawing a laugh from his lips. 

“Keith!”

He looks up to a grinning Shiro, his arms blurred with motion as he dashes the scant distance between them, the soles of his shoes pounding on pavement. Behind him, the rest of the Lions depart with a few shouts and aborted cries of farewell of their own, their words lost to Keith’s ears as he jogs up to meet Shiro in the middle with a smile of his own.

“Sal hasn’t banned you all from the restaurant, right?”

Shiro chuckles, one arm slipping around Keith’s shoulders to pull him close. “Took a while to convince him not to, but I think the extra fifty dollar tip helped. He says you’re welcome back after two weeks by the way.”

Keith’s eyes threaten to bug out of his skull. “Fifty dollars? Shiro, I’ll pay you back! It was my fault after all!”

“Ah, there’s no need, Keith!” A light flush fills Shiro’s cheeks as he worries at his lip. “A. Adam and I split it between the two of us. As captain and co-captain.”

At Keith’s raised eyebrow, Shiro shrugs. “His words, not mine.”

_ Captain and co-captain. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.  _ Judging from the light frown now gracing Shiro’s brow, it’s obvious that neither of them believe Adam’s statement, and they stay silent as they unlock their bikes, a heavy lump tossing and turning in Keith’s stomach all the while. It’s not until they are well and truly out of the parking lot, and the headlights of cars and starting engines are as distant as the scent of grease that Keith clears his throat and speaks, fingers flexing on their grip around the handlebars. “So...did we beat Ryan and James?”

“Did we beat-oh.”

Shiro’s bike threatens to stutter to a stop before he shakes his head and resumes his easy pedalling, his bottom lip pulled into his mouth when he slowly returns Keith’s gaze. “James um. James claimed that because you got kicked out that he and Ryan won by default.”

_ Damn it.  _ “Sorry, Shiro.”

“Don’t be.” It might be the dimness of the scarce streetlights, but Keith swears that there’s a light pinkish tinge at the edge of Shiro’s ears, his gaze fixated straight ahead as he continues, “W-We put up one helluva fight though, Keith; there’s always next time.”

It’s a shame that there’s no convenient pothole to explain the break in his easy pedalling rhythm, and Keith barely gets his bike back under control before he rides headlong into the kerb, his heart pounding in his ears even as he waves off Shiro’s cries of concern.  _ Next. Time. There’s going to be a next time. _ His chest tightens as memories of his behaviour during the dinner flood his mind, until his body itches for the warmth of Shiro’s body against his own. The aftertaste of Vanilla Coke lingering in the back of his mouth grows stronger despite his sip from Shiro’s glass of water, and Keith gulps.  _ Calm down. Shiro was cool with it. _ The roads grow steadily more familiar, and Keith forces himself to maintain his steady pace, to not make a break for the safety of his room and away from Shiro’s concern and his mom’s no doubt knowing gaze. _ Shiro was cool with it. He would have let you know if he wasn’t.  _ All of a sudden, Shiro’s presence by his side is all too much but still not enough, and Keith forces another deep breath into his lungs as they pull to a stop in front of his house, the lights at the front flaring to life as he slowly dismounts. _ And you didn’t let anything get too far. There’s no way he saw it as an indirect kiss. There’s no way he suspects. _ Still, Keith asks, “Are we still on for tomorrow afternoon then?”  _ Please don’t tell me that I fucked this up. _

His breath catches in his throat as Shiro rapidly hops off his bike to pull him into a tight hug, his whispered words tickling the skin of his ear. “Of course we are.”

Keith closes his eyes, hands slowly sliding up the length of Shiro’s back to clutch him closer.  _ Thank fuck _

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment below or hit me up on tumblr [here](https://history-rover.tumblr.com/)!


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